The solace we find in the salty waters of the world’s oceans makes us better people each time we paddle out, and I, for one, am thankful for that gift. Photo: Weisberg
The shrill of my alarm tears me from slumber with its bewildering screech. It’s Wednesday morning, and the clock reads 5:45 AM. My body aches and my head is still in a fog as I reluctantly roll out of the comfort and warmth of my bed. The same thoughts, the same worldly concerns, the same personal turmoil that infiltrated my dreams, still plagues my mind as I shuffle into the bathroom and groggily begin my morning routine: first gargling, then brushing, then washing my face.
As I struggle with my cerebral demons, I remember why I’m awake at this ridiculous hour: SURFING. And with cautious optimism, I tread lightly down the carpeted stairs, flip open my laptop and launch the web browser. The report reads: 5-7ft WNW/SSW combo swell, 1.4 foot low tide rising, 62 degree water, offshore winds, and good conditions. The worries of last night, of last week, of last month are somehow diminished by the hope provided by the mere possibility of a good session.
As I step outside, I am greeted with the chill of an early Fall morning in Southern California, but I refuse to wear shoes and socks…with frozen toes bursting from my sandals, I climb into the car and think to myself, “Just 45 minutes and I will be at the beach.” With each passing mile on the freeway my excitement grows, and the swirl of malcontent dissipates. It is soon replaced by visions of uncrowded lineups, barreling head-high a-frames, and a few friends to share the experience. I can even hear my buddy making one of his many nonsensical inside jokes: “Time to dine at the Shacktown Grill!” I smile to myself and roll down my window. The smell of the salty air greets me, and I feel like I am returning home even though I had only just left it forty minutes prior.
As I wrestle with my damp wetsuit, I can hardly contain the excitement coursing through my body; it’s as if my wetsuit’s neoprene catalyzes some bizarre, intravenous pseudo-chemical reaction. I grab my board and sprint down to the bluff to check the conditions.
The report was exaggerated, as it usually is. The surf is 3-5 feet at best. The wind is side-shore. The lineup is anything but uncrowded, but none of that matters. As my toes hit the sand, the stress of my life melts away. The ocean is brisk, but the chill is welcome. My first duck-dive washes away the residual chaos that flooded my brain, and I find solace in the salty water. My only concern, my singular focus is surfing. As I trade waves with friends and strangers, I find myself at peace, approaching life with a renewed perspective. I find that I am no longer burdened by my problems, but, rather, I am inspired by them. The worries that loomed so menacingly earlier this morning begin to appear as they really are: part of my journey in life.
I have learned that life is full of challenges, but also, by many blessings, and I see surfing as one of my life’s greatest. Andy Irons wasn’t exactly a huge influence on my surfing life, but a quote he shared in the short film, “I Surf Because…” struck a chord with me. Irons said, “Surfing keeps my life at an even keel; without it, I would just tip into oblivion. I surf because I am always a better person when I come in.” For every surfer, this experience may differ slightly, but the essence rings true. The solace we find in the salty water of the world’s oceans makes us better people each time we paddle out, and I, for one, am thankful for that gift.
