Over the years, my family went on lots of vacations — a cruise to Mexico, spring break in London, Christmas in NYC, etc. But what stands out most are the summers spent at our beach house in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It’s the place where I first rode a bike, had a weak-at-the-knees crush, learned to cook, read every Harry Potter, slept outside just to star-gaze, and had my first kiss with a boy who took me sailing and had lime green hair.

At the beach house, we gather around a big farm table and eat spicy steamer pot dinners until our lips are swollen, boogie-board in groups of twenty and consciously watch every sunrise and sunset. We swim in the ocean until our eyes sting from salt and our hands look like prunes.

The beach house has evolved into a sacred place for my family — it’s the place we come to unwind, recharge, and be together. It’s just a quirky little cottage (with a breathtaking view), but I think it is the most beautiful place in the world.