Everyone needs a happy place.
My school teacher advised this during a 5th form class in 1988. She was right; it doesn't take much effort to conjure up a life station (real or imagined) to visit mentally or physically when you're not feeling too chipper.
I have a few such places, but the primary bolthole is Central Hawke's Bay's Aramoana Beach. As a pale-skinned Celt my young shoulders burned and blistered during every summer camp there. To boot, my father has strong ties to the area and a good friend was raised in the settlement, so it resonates.
Last weekend I drove there with my daughter for a dive at low tide. The water was clear, the surf settled and a strong sun provided great underwater visibility. Crayfish was the aspirational target - paua was the probable target.
I slid off the edge of the shelf and into a palette of blues, greens, yellows and browns. Once one's body adjusts to the cold and one's fear abates, the weightlessness, quiet and visual shimmer makes for my all-time happy place.