We live on an island. And yet, many of us have never truly belonged to the ocean. I did not grow up by the sea. I grew up in a Parisian suburb, landlocked, with the English Channel the closest body of saltwater. Not the most inspiring beginning.

On a small Normandy beach where I spent my childhood holidays, I would watch the sailing club at the end of the shore with envy and quietly hope I might join.

“We cannot afford it,” my father would say, a little shyly. I did not own a mask nor a snorkel. I had no real sense of the underwater world, even as Jacques Cousteau was already revealing the ocean’s wonders.

It took me until my mid-twenties — after veering away from chemical engineering and into ocean studies almost by accident — to fall in love with the sea. That love eventually brought me to Bermuda and has kept me here for nearly 25 years. Today, as an oceanographer-turned-educator, I have found my purpose in helping others feel closer to the water. I am deeply grateful that my son is growing up with the ocean ever present.

And yet, I am not entirely sure he feels the same connection.

Digital entertainment, busy social lives, the occasional summer beach day or cliff jump, a raft-up if you know someone with a boat — for many young people, and adults too, the ocean remains more of a backdrop than a relationship. This is striking on an island with such a rich maritime heritage.

In Bermuda, the ocean is not scenery. It is our history, our culture, our food, our livelihoods, our safety, and our future. It shapes our climate, our economy and our identity. The ocean belongs to all of us, regardless of income, background or whether we own a boat. And we belong to it in return. That relationship is practical, emotional and non-negotiable.

Yet we are putting it under extraordinary strain.

For centuries, humanity did not fully understand the consequences of its actions. We overfished without appreciating how slowly populations recover. We polluted without seeing how everything done on land eventually reaches the sea. We dredged and built without understanding how fragile coral reefs and seagrass beds truly are.

Today, we know better.

We have watched fish once abundant become scarce. We have seen damage that takes far longer to repair than it took to cause. Climate change is compounding these pressures: globally, the ocean has absorbed more than 90 per cent of the excess heat from human-driven warming. Here in Bermuda, coral-bleaching events are becoming more frequent and more severe. For years, I hoped our reefs’ position at the northern edge of coral tolerance might offer resilience. But adaptation takes time — and we are running out of it.

We tend to protect what we love. We fight for what we feel we belong to. We act when we are both in love and a little afraid of losing something precious.

So the question for Bermuda is not only how we manage our blue backyard more effectively, but how we help more people — especially young people — truly feel their connection to the ocean. Because when the ocean is treated only as a view, a resource or a convenience, we lose the very things that make this island special. And once they are gone, they do not come back quickly, if at all.

Reconnection is not a luxury.

It does not require becoming a scientist, sailor or diver. It can be as simple as putting your feet in the water at the end of a long day and noticing how your body responds. Taking a child to a quiet bay and letting them explore safely. Walking the shoreline and paying attention — to shells, seaweed, plastic, birds. Learning the names of a few local fish or corals. These are small acts. But done with intention, they build something essential: a sense of belonging.

I have seen people fall in love with the ocean at every age and from every background. It is never too late — but it is urgent. The ocean is warning us through bleached corals, invasive species, fewer fish, higher tides and more extreme seasons.

We live on an island. What we choose to do next will determine what remains for our children.

It is time we live like we truly belong to the ocean again.

• Alex Amat is an oceanographer, educator and conservationist based in Bermuda. She is the founder of Blue Backyard. For more information on programming, visit bluebackyard.org