What is it about islands?

I've been thinking a lot about islands recently, after a sunny day visit to a beautiful island off the North Wales coast.

What is it about islands? They carry their own magic. They feel special, unique. 

Looking back to the mainland from an island off the North Wales coast

"Island life". The term conjures such romantic images in my mind (and in the minds of many I'm sure). Communities of "locals" and "incomers". Coastal treasures. Crystal blue water. Fishing boats. Jetties covered in creels and broken boats. Deep red sunsets. Lighthouses beaming both warning and safety to passing ships. Wild weather lasting for days. Powercuts. A bustling local pub. Crofts with far roaming sheep. Working the land. Wildlife galore. Cosy cottages. Secret beaches. Sleepy winters. Busy summers.

Taking the boat over the water a few weekends ago felt, in some ways, like I was travelling to a part of "home" within myself. I'm not even sure if that makes sense. I'd never been to this island before, but something about travelling away from the mainland brought a warm fuzzy feeling to my heart. Whilst I did not grow up living "island life", it was pretty close, surrounded to the north, west and south by seawater. We regularly took a ferry ride to get home. That life, living "way out west", so intwined in nature, regularly buffeted by westerly winds, does feel like a part of who I am. The environment I grew up in has, no doubt, shaped me as a person. Everyday, I miss the sea, as though we are in some form of long distance relationship (though, I know the sea does not miss me). That longing is buried deep in my soul. It never fades. 

So grateful for the experiences island visits have given me. Photo by Ben McKeown @thebigbluetree

Yet my visit to that island was merely a day trip adventure. After a wonderful few hours of walking, gazing out to sea, watching lazy seals and day dreaming about what life would be like in this little place, it was time to leave. We were back on the boat, passing the guardians of the island, the true locals: communities of puffins, guillemots, cormorants, gulls. Motoring away, their little pockets of homes in the cliffs becoming all the more distant, and the fuzzy feeling in my heart steadily evaporating into the salty air.

Where do I belong? Such a complicated question. Simply, I belong in a quiet place, surrounded by nature. I think I belong, not necessarily on an island, but certainly by the sea. I dread being asked "where are you from?" It's too complicated. My accent is a ever-changing concoction, affected by who I am talking to. People cannot work out where I am from. I am not really sure where I am from, but I can say where I have lived, and where felt like home. An island could certainly be a home, but whether I will ever fully belong there... will I ever fully "belong" anywhere? And what is it about islands, that instil this longing in me?

My best friend, stood on her island, gazing back to the peninsula where we grew up together