When You Miss the Mountains but Love the Sea

Finding Balance in Change

If you’ve ever left one landscape you loved for another — mountain mornings for salty air, winding roads for open water — you know that change can feel both exciting and a little bittersweet.

We left the mountains for the sea, trading pine trees for palm fronds and four seasons for endless sunshine. What we didn’t expect was how different everything would feel — and how long it would take to truly call this new place home.

The mountain memories don’t fade because there’s something grounding about the mountains — the crisp mornings, the quiet, the way the air smells like sagebrush and earth. You don’t stop missing that just because you find a new kind of beauty. Some days, I still crave the crunch of leaves underfoot or a mug of cocoa by the fire.

But what I’ve learned is that homesickness isn’t just for a place — it’s for a rhythm. And rhythms can be recreated, no matter where you live.

Finding a new stillness was necessary. Living on the water has its own calm, softer and more fluid. Out here, the stillness comes at sunrise — when the water mirrors the sky and the dock creaks beneath your feet. It’s not the hush of snowfall, but it’s its own kind of peace.

The trick is to stop comparing and start noticing. Every place offers its own quiet, its own reminder to breathe.

Moving to the coast taught me flexibility — that life can sway with the tide and still move forward. The mountains taught me strength; the sea teaches me flow. Both are valuable, both shape who you become.

When you stop longing for one or clinging to the other, you realize that both places live inside you — the grounded calm of the mountains and the wild openness of the sea. Or the gentle bobbing of the being tied off at the dock.

Creating a sense of home anywhere is paramount to feeling settled. For me, home now smells like salt air and coffee on the deck. It sounds like lines creaking when there’s a breeze and laughter echoing off the water.

Home became less about geography and more about the people gathered around the table — whether that table was in a cabin, a cottage, or a galley kitchen.

Since moving here, when the homesickness hits, I cook. Something about whisking batter or brewing coffee bridges the gap between the places I’ve loved. That’s how From the Galley with Love – Brunch came to life — as a collection of memories and flavors that travel well, no matter where you drop anchor.

You can love two places at once — the one you came from and the one you’ve grown into. Missing the mountains doesn’t mean you don’t belong at the sea. It just means your heart is big enough for both.

If you’re navigating your own transition — from mountain trails to sandy shores or city streets to open water — give yourself grace. In time, the tide finds its rhythm, and so will you.