James Joyce once described the rolling waves of the Irish sea in such a manner as to completely, unabashedly obliterate any notion of beauty surrounding the thing:

“The sea, the snot-green sea, the scrotum-tightening sea.”

Someone evidently had several qualms about the sea. Well, he had a dexterity with words, anyway.

Though I certainly do not doubt the “scrotum-tightening” frigidity of the sea, particularly as Ireland’s viridescent foliage turns, day by day, shades ever nearer to orange and amber, I could scarcely say a disapproving word about it.

These past couple of months have provided me with ample occasions during which to gaze out over open Irish seas, to watch, mouth agape, as shards of ethereal sunlight pierce through rifts in the ever-moving clouds, spotlighting sailboats and homes and reflective waves in a buttery glow.

Perhaps it is the high concentration of negative ions in the air by the sea that makes these coastal visits so nourishing to the body and soul, or maybe it’s simply the bliss of journeying somewhere beautiful alongside those who cause your heart to swell like the rising tides. Regardless, I’ve found solace in these blustery afternoons along Dublin’s easternmost shore.

With my new toy (I certainly should stop calling a DSLR camera a toy, but it’s just so damn fun) in tow, the excursions have become opportunities for creativity, for new perspectives on places I’ve been before, like Howth.

Such has been the mantra of life back in Dublin during my second year, a year that has, two months in, already differed exponentially from the first. I aspire to remain in awe of the beauty that continues to exist around me; to remind myself ceaselessly how lucky I am to be able to live each day as I once fantasised I might, back when daydreaming of this alternate life was the only incentive to reach the end of the quicksand of high school.

Novelty always grips me. It always has, just as it likely always will. And, while first year was undeniably the peak of my human experience thus far, a great deal of my persisting exhilaration and passion during that period can probably be attributed to the frequency of new adventures, new relationships, new emotions, and the newness of living in Dublin alone. That undiscovered independence opened a profusion of doors, prompted a smattering of reality checks, of lessons beautiful and eye-opening. Everything had yet to be touched, so I ached to lay my fingerprints on the immaculate new world unfolding around me.

These days, I know Dublin well.

I’m learning to love it in new ways, despite our familiarity with one another. Instead of growing bored of these places I’ve been a number of times, of these trodden paths, I’m attempting to breathe new life into them. To take new photos from new angles, to travel old roads to new destinations, to ruminate on my blessings before I seek the next, to ponder myself in relation to it all now, as I am, grown.

Dublin is still just as lovely and exciting as it was a year ago; it is I who have changed. Consequently, perspective means everything, and I need not waver in my admiration for this city, for my school, for my friends who, a year into our adventures, have become my family. I can make the choice everyday to gaze upon these once-novel avenues with the same thrill, wonder, and veneration as I did last year. And, my god, there is so much beauty around every corner, and still so much yet to be seen.

While I’ll never tire nor part with my darling Howth, the novelty of new seasides beckoned last weekend. With treasured friends, we took the Dart further north to Port Marnock in search of a Sunday bite of novelty, albeit ever so near.

The walk ended in Malahide, where we sipped coffee to warm up before heading homeward, back to the city centre, to the nucleus of our lives. We breathed in the sea air while we could, gazed upon the novelty that encompassed us, and vowed to seek a new destination outside the city again in the coming week. It isn’t so difficult around Dublin, really, when you’ve such a distilled sort of splendour in such a minute radius, such a picturesque landscape around every other corner.

Even the parts we’ve already seen.

Perhaps we are all in need of a refresher now and again, a reminder of what we have, what we take for granted. Us Trinity students, we scoff now at the way tourists gawk at the campanile, at the front square, the statues and the pitches. Who are we to belittle others for accessing a sense of awe and wonder at that which we have become too jaded to gaze upon in amazement ourselves?

I needed a few trips to the seaside to realise all that I have right here, just beyond my front door. Retain the reverence for these commonplace pleasures, my friends. Nudge yourself to remember the way you first felt on these roads, among these friends. The sensation is within you already. And if, like Mr. Joyce, the sea is rather snotty green and crudely nippy for your liking, there are other wonders, new and old, to behold. Always.

We just have to take a deep breath, thank our lucky stars for the life we’ve been given, and go find them.