It's not that there hasn't been anything to write about in the last ten days. On Sunday, I surfed. Standing up. The whole time. With a smiley face in the sky. Again. And last night I went to an event for surfers in Santa Monica at the O'Neill store and ate pizza and drank a beer. Then I stopped at a bookstore and found a book I'd been seeking - for five dollars.
Things have happened. I've had insights. For instance, according to this book, "The Life You Were Meant to Live," my life path numbers are 30/3. And last night someone suggested I create a Kickstart fund * so that I could travel into outer space and write about it.
And yet my whole life (including surfing, parenting, love, spirituality) has lately been suffused by a sensation of awkwardness that makes everything come out wrong. Or not wrong but.... as if I'm not getting to the point.
Despite the fact that there is one. Somewhere. Wanting to come out, but buried beneath layers upon layers of...other stuff.
Sometimes there's no wind and there are no waves. There may be brilliant sunshine, but the water is like glass. And all there is to do is be prepared, be patient and wait for your wave.
*I'd use Indiegogo.com instead (shameless plug for my friend Adam).
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