I decided last month to start chronicling my surf sessions again in hopes of a.) better remembering them and b.) being nudged to surf more. Which is crazy, right? That I would have to encourage myself to do more of this thing I love? We are strange people, those of us who repeatedly let the mundane preempt joy despite knowing better. Sure, life demands we fulfill certain obligations, but what strange part of our brain compels us to spend time that could be spent immersed in the wonder of the world in front of a computer or cleaning out a closet instead? I wonder these things.
Maybe 2015 will be the year I solve this riddle. In any case, I hope it is a year of many waves caught. Unfortunately, my motivation to paddle out yesterday – New Year’s surf is mandatory! – was not accompanied by any actual skill or wave savvy. Quite humbling, this stupid sport is. In my defense, I arrived exhausted from an hour prior of intense Frisbee-flinging with the accompanying running, leaping and diving across the sand. And I hadn’t slept much from our New Year’s Eve crawl. Also, a shorter board with a little rocker would’ve helped with the late drops. I’d expected smaller waves and only brought my longboard. Still. Excuses! None justify my clumsiness. I look forward to redemption in a future session.
On the upside: the sky glowed all the colors necessary for a spectacular sunset; several friendly faces greeted me in the line-up; to be in the ocean was as life-affirming (if ego-crushing) as usual. Also, I still revel in the good fortune of owning a 4WD truck that allows me to cruise right out to the beach and stay till dark chasing crumbs of swell until I am forced to admit that pretty as the moon’s glitter is, I can no longer see. I drive home in my wetsuit because the few miles to my house are faster than tugging it off and why strip down on the beach when I can do in a hot shower so nearby? It is a dream at times, this life. I marvel it is real.