I Love Forests, I Love Espresso & I Love My Mom

I began my surfing journey because I wanted to change my life. I wanted expansion and ecstasy, bliss and transformation, and I wanted it without having to leave my family or my life. I wanted to challenge the fantasy of narratives such as 'Eat,Pray,Love, ' in which a woman's nirvana is achieved through great distance, expense and solitude. I wanted happiness, not a divorce. And I wanted to surf.

Have I achieved what I set out for? I have.

I'm particularly aware of it right now because, in the topsy-turvy reality that's been my life lately, the tumbler has finally set. I'm not going to graduate school. I'm going to Tacoma, Washington. And I'm taking the family with me.

This is a wonderful outcome. I love journeys with undetermined outcomes. I love forests. I love espresso and I love my mom.This adventure will involve all of these. What it will not necessarily involve is surfing. Mountain biking? I hope so. But surfing? I've had to take many deep breaths to say to myself calmly, "Not likely." (Though "surf vacation" has become my new mantra).

When I began this blog, I had no idea it would come to such a natural conclusion. And yet here I am, in the final chapter (if not the final post) with the end in sight. I'm already planning my next blog "Bike, Love, Pray", "Hike, Love, Pray"? It's not quite clear.

I may just call it "Relocate, Love, Pray" and leave it at that.

Either way, the journey will continue even though the surf sessions may not. Stay tuned.

Surfing in the Rain

Random Beach Photo. All my cameras are broken and I didn't want to bring my friend's loaner to the beach  today.

It's been almost a month since I went surfing and even longer since I posted to this blog. Incredible though it seems, I'd even forgotten that I had a blog until I read this post by my friend Lindsay Gallagher, about why she had't posted to her  blog for too long a time.

On the one hand, the days have been getting shorter and colder. Holiday festivities have been underway. Colds have been running rampant. And none of it has been making me want to get in the water. On the other hand, I've  been feeling cranky, hopeless and despairing.

Any connection to not surfing? I had to find out.

When I checked this morning's Venice Beach Surf Report, it said conditions were poor. I could see the evidence (no waves) on the live camera feed. But, struggling against inertia and a natural desire to be warm, I put my board on the wagon and drove to the beach anyway.

It was raining when I arrived and it was only the presence of two ten year old boys suiting up in the parking lot that made me push on. I wasn't going to wuss out if they weren't.

It turned out that there were waves. They were small but perfect, and I caught more of them than I can remember in a long time. And I got to enjoy something available to relatively few people in the world.

I bobbed on a surfboard  in the middle of the water and watched raindrops speckling the surface around me. Under silvery gray light, I saw the sky reflected in waves like abstract photograph negatives. And I felt the peacefulness of pelicans and gulls soaring above me.

Mood check? Much better.

Being Here Now

I've made it a point not to criticize my surfing  and I've grown a lot from giving up the habit of saying "I suck." However, the truth has been that I've watched many a beginner - man, woman and child -  stand up on their board their first time out, when it took me more than a year to do the same. So, even though I gave up saying "I suck," I still couldn't help noticing and then scratching my head in puzzlement.

But, eventually, I was standing - not as much as I'd like, but standing nonetheless - and figuring out what I had been doing wrong that I now was doing right. From the beginning, it was clear that it had to do with my legs and how I placed my weight backwards, instead of forwards. Next it became clear that - due to many years of ballet plies - I wasn't squatting properly.

And then - with the help of a friend who is a seasoned yoga instructor - I got the guidance I'd been seeking. Sonya showed me how to properly distribute my weight and build up the leg muscles that had been long overlooked in my ballet and yoga training. After less than  a week of practicing the exercises she gave me, I can already feel certain muscles strengthening and certain tendons lengthening.

Aside from its potential for altering my stance on a surfboard, this new posture is altering my stance in the world and the very way I relate to the ground beneath my feet. For as long as I can remember, I have rarely felt "connected" to the earth. Instead, I've felt spacey and as if I  might float away. Since I've been focusing on strengthening my adductor muscles and turning my feet straight ahead of me - instead of balletically outwards - I feel  more grounded and HERE.

Again and again, surfing teaches me not to underestimate the degree to which our bodily experiences impact our experience of life in general. Our body is not separate from our mind and not separate from our spirit, so how our bodies feel -  limber, tight, stressed, relaxed, strong, weak, turned inward, turned outward - has a profound affect on how we feel psychologically, emotionally and spiritually. Though the connection may not always be as apparent as it's been for me recently, it's always there.

If you pay attention.

True Love

Photo by  Meaghan Miller Lopez AMMA Photography

That's me, totally loving my surf board. I was walking past it and I couldn't resist giving it a big 'ole hug.
It's brought me so far in the last year or so. It's provided me with a dream come true - riding the waves - standing up (!) - and I'm sure inspired me in my latest adventure-to-be.

If all goes well, in January, 2012, I'll be going back to school. Grown-up school.

Ashton will be in pre-school, Trin will be...we don't know yet what Trin will be doing...and I will be studying for a Masters Degree in counselling psychology with a specialization in treating trauma.

I started surfing because after years of training in other people's versions of personal transformation, I wanted to pursue my own version. I wanted to become something - someone - I never thought I could be. 

On the one hand, I had hoped surfing would turn me into someone completely different. Someone who never gets upset about the small stuff. Someone who never yells at the kids, or gets completely worked up when things don't go her way. I thought it would erase all the things I couldn't stand about myself and make me totally mellow and super "cool." It didn't do that.

But surfing has provided me with more joy than I've known in a long time. It has restored me to myself and made me more of myself than I can remember being. It's made me young again in some ways and also grown me up. And it's made me more capable of dealing with the things that really matter.

I'm so glad I'm doing it. It's one of the great love stories of my life.

First Times Cont'd...

1) Friday afternoon I arrived in Santa Monica at around 3 o'clock. The sun was brilliant (a theme in this blog),  the air was warm. And, I realized, the water probably was too, after this week's crazy mid-October heat wave. By that time, I was already on the beach but I stripped off my wet suit and - inspired by a cute bikini-clad mermaid in the waves -  went into the water with only my bathing suit. No rash  guard. No board shorts.  A first.

2) The water was unusually flat, but the afternoon sun sparkled brilliantly on the surface. It was glittery and gorgeous. There were few waves but there sure was a lot of beauty. When I saw the water level drop and rise to announce an approaching wave, I paddled like hell. It was a miss but the water was warm and I didn't mind getting dunked. I climbed back on my board and blissfully stared out at the beautiful vista, considering myself very blessed. I smiled at the lone surfer on my right who was looking straight at me.

Then I saw it. After he did, apparently.

My right breast. Glistening in the sun. There's a reason why girls like me should wear rash guards.

3) I saw something else, too. A strange cloud in the distance. Like smoke from a fire rising up from the horizon. I watched as it approached and eventually enveloped and surpassed me. It was fog. What had been a sunny day turned gray and cool within minutes, all while I sat on my board. When I turned around, I couldn't even see the guard tower thirty yards away. I had never seen that before.

Another first.

I Dub Thee...

Last Sunday it was sunny, the water was warm, the waves were perfect and all was right with the world (actually, all is always right with the world, it's just that we're often unable to see it that way).

Because I surf much better when I've done yoga earlier in the day, or have gone for a run before getting in the water, I brought my sneakers to the beach. I ran for about fifteen minutes and then grabbed my board. The 310 Surf Chics were there and though the water was crowded, the vibe was friendly.

The great thing about being a beginner surfer is the opportunity for so many "firsts" and "bests." Well, Sunday was the first time I caught a wave, dropped in, stood up and rode it all the way to shore. So it was also the best wave I ever caught. By far. It was a sweet little thing, but I was enjoying it so much that I was almost on the sand when I realized I was gonna have to jump off at some point.

So I fell forward. Or backward. I can't remember. Either way, I knew I was falling the way you're not supposed to fall when you jump off your board in shallow water. I knew, because I'd recently eavesdropped on a surf lesson for beginners (see above photo) and I heard the instructor say something about it.

When I fell, I ended up under less than a foot of water. But before I could get up, I felt a hard rap on the head. It was my board. It's foam, so it wasn't that bad, but still...it made an impact. The board rung me like a bell and to get those vibrations out of my body, I found myself "shaking it off."  It was the only way to recover from being so "stunned" and I experienced first-hand that the body needs to discharge energy in order to recover from a trauma.

Afterwards, I considered why this had happened.

From a Mechanical point of view, I knew that, obviously, I had fallen in the wrong direction. But then I looked at it Mythologically. And laughed.

Neptune, King of the Ocean, had seen my victorious wave. And when it was done, he gently tapped me on the head with my board and dubbed me...a Surfer.

Surfing As Spiritual Practice

Back in August, I met a blogger named Rachelle Mee Chapman at the infamous faith-bloggers workshop that gave me so much food for thought. She has a website called MagpieGirl.com and has been running a series about women and their "right" spiritual practice. I was honored when she asked me to participate and write a guest post for her site.

It posted today and here is the link: http://www.magpie-girl.com/

Enjoy MagpieGirl.

Doing, Being, Dreaming

Last week I had a surfing dream. I haven't had one of those in a while and this one certainly gave me something to think about. To minimize the bore that it can be to read about other people's dreams, I will be as brief as possible:

1) I paddle out behind a huge pack of men. If we surf in this configuration, someone will certainly get hurt. I  paddle around to the side, so that no one will crash into me.

2) I paddle out between two piers in a marina. Dolphins splash in the water in front of me. Then they start swimming towards shore. One of them almost crashes into me and gives me a very annoyed squeak.

3) My "surf instructor" tells me to surf into an empty house, through open windows and doors. "This is your wave," he says. "Take it."  "Screw that", I say. "This is NOT my wave"

4) Later, my "surf instructor" tries to fit his surfboard through the open windows and doors. Of course they don't fit. But he can't figure out why. He was sure they would.

5) Lastly, I sit on my board in the open ocean looking towards the shore. The water is glassy, not a wave in sight. I bob on the current, going nowhere. It's beautiful.

Sections 1through 4 suggest that - between the danger of other surfers crashing into me, dolphins annoyed at me for being in their way and going against the current, and "surf instructors" ordering me to do the un-doable - there's somewhere in my life that I'm not going with the flow. 

Section 5 suggests that, perhaps, sometimes the only thing to do is just sit.

I don't think there is a single spiritual teacher who would disagree with that message.

More People From My Village

One day I stood in the waves lamenting the fact that - because I'd sent out a group e-mail announcing my summer vacation field trip schedule - I now had to answer an almost equal number of questions. Questions such as: what time will you be going? do you think you'll go again in August? Can you get back to me closer to the date?


Sheesh, I thought, it'd be nice to have some company on our field trips, but it's really easier to just do it on my own. If I'd died last week, thought it would have been easier to do it on her own could have been my epitaph.

But standing there in the water, I started to giggle. I'd always thought my problem was that nobody wanted to help me but right at that moment I realized my real problem was that I didn't want to deal with all the baggage I associated with accepting help - the tit for tat, the expectations, the relationship-piness of it all.

I'd been blaming my loneliness on the world, when it was really me who was to blame. Really, I started giggling. To myself. In the water.

And then this guy looks at me with a serious expression on his face. He says something like "if you leave your hands on your board after you catch the wave, your balance will be better." And for the next hour or so,  Ernie - 50ish father of four, plumber, former gymnastics coach at Venice High and lifelong surfer - coaches me through the best surf session ever. He gives me tips on my hands, my board, going under, turning, catching the wave - everything I could have wanted, really. And I receive it with gratitude.

Finally worn out by Ernie's strenuous training regimen ("paddle, paddle, paddle!" he yells constantly) I say thank you and head to the parking lot. There I meet Mark - another Venice old timer - who admires my beat-up 1980 Mercedes Surf Wagon because it looks like the one his dad had back in the day, when he was a kid and they used to go on surf trips. We talk  cars and beaches and discover we're practically neighbors.

A few days later, when I wonder why all the surfers are gathered on the north side of the Venice Pier rather than the south, I'm schooled in swells and tides by John, the surfer foregrounded in the photo above.

What more can I say? Maybe it's not easier to just do it on my own.

In Case I'd Forgotten...It Takes a Village

This week, my friend Grant's family was in town from Kansas City to celebrate his college graduation. On Monday, they invited us to spend the day on the beach. While other family members kept an eye on the older kids, Grant's Mom Connie volunteered to look after Ashton while I hit the waves.

It was a beautiful day - sunny and warm. The waves were not big, but they were big enough. There was a strong rip current, but otherwise conditions were perfect.

Even though I could see that Connie was a watchful grandma, I kept checking on her and Ashton from my location in the water. Due to Ashton's new red hat, they were easy to spot.

As I watched them, it occurred to me that it was due to Connie that I was surfing. And it occurred to me that, as a mother, it is only due to other people that I am able to do anything. And that is because, as a mother, I am not only responsible for myself but for other people as well.

And because I am responsible for those others, I am essentially, no longer an individual. I may inhabit one body, but I am no longer "one."

So much of my conflict as a parent has stemmed from my insistence that I am still an individual. So much of the conflict I think so many parents experience stems from the fact that our society, our culture, expects all people - each of whom inhabits only one body - to be an individual when, in fact, many of us are not. When in fact, none of us are, though for some of us - estranged from family, estranged from community, "single", childless -  it may be easier to deny.

The  realization that a statement like "we are all one" is neither metaphor, nor abstract ideal, has, frankly, blown my mind. Previously, I'd thought it was something a person "gets" when on acid, or ecstasy, or once they have achieved enlightenment. It was never something I thought I'd grasp from simply standing in chest high waves on Venice Beach.

Doesn't Feel Comfortable Around Strange Men

Almost a whole month has gone by without a post to this blog. On the one hand, life can get rather busy and distracting sometimes.  On the other, I haven't made an effort to write.

The last time I went surfing, this guy, a pretty nice, harmless seeming guy named Mir kept trying to talk to me in the water. I was having none of it. As Brian says of me when I get this way, I was "on the subway." As in, "get away from me you creep or I'll stomp on your head." When I get that way, Brian usually adds "but you're not on the subway anymore."

No, I'm not. But while you can take the girl out of the subway, can you ever take the subway out of the girl?

I started taking the subway at  very impressionable age. I was twelve and had been admitted into a prestigious public school in downtown Manhattan. I could have gone to another, also prestigious, school walking distance from my home in The Bronx, but I wanted to go downtown more than anything. Despite the one hour I'd spend travelling each way to and from school I would not be deterred.

From almost day one I was harassed, felt up, leered at and generally accosted by men of all ages. Freshman year, on especially crowded afternoons, there was a man who would stand behind me and stick his hand between my legs. I could never see him but I knew he was there. One day, I lifted up a boot-clad foot and stomped as hard as I could on the foot behind me. That was the last time that particular perp ever touched me - and I never even knew who he was.

Add to that the men I did see - the ones who mugged me, jumped me late at night, or generally made life uneasy for me as a young attractive woman - and it's clear why the attitude I developed towards men was not warm, fuzzy or welcoming. To say the least. By the way, this is directly related to my previously mentioned reluctance to bare cleavage or wear anything  that might seem otherwise revealing, seductive or, in my eyes, dangerous.

But that was a long time ago, right?

Since then, I've prayed for surf buddies who have not materialized. I've prayed for a surfing mentor who'd go out with me and help me improve my technique.  But when Mir offered himself (as buddy) and his friend Grant (as mentor), I was like "no fucking way, dude."

Until then, I hadn't realized how much I'd hoped surfing would turn me into someone else. That it would wash away the old traumas and hurts, that it would turn me into someone who welcomes the world with open arms and is able to relax, have fun  and go with the flow.

When I got home from the beach and realized I was still the same old me, I was troubled and discouraged. And that was the last time I went surfing.

Still, I'll be back.

I want to surf. I need to have some fun. Where's my board?

Ashton naturally knows how to have fun. With me it takes more practice.

I didn't go surfing last weekend - photo shoot, drinks and fight with husband one day, baby shower the next.
I didn't go surfing during the week either - the kids got sick and I got sick.
At the same time, I've fallen off the wagon of a regular almost-daily yoga practice that had been going strong for three years.

The combination of a lack of fun times in the water and a lack of peaceful times in my head has left me angry, sad, judgmental  - and without a proper sense of perspective. Everything seems like a dire emergency.
I started surfing partially because I wanted to create a new circuit in my brain that says: "I need to have some fun. I want to surf. Where's my board?"

This would replace that old worn-out circuit in my brain that says "I'm a worthless piece of crap.I don't want to do anything. What's the point?"

"I'm a worthless piece of crap.I don't want to do anything. What's the point?"

I want to surf. I need to have some fun. Where's my board?

Do Unto Others

I woke up this morning to learn that big wave surfer Sion Milosky had drowned up north at  Mavericks.

A couple of weeks ago I had an idea at the water's edge. Was the ocean like me? I thought. A mother who loves all her children, but nonetheless has her good days and her bad? Who has days when she feels generous and others when she doesn't want to be asked for one more thing?

That day I thought I'd start treating the ocean the way I'd like to be treated. Maybe a strange idea. Maybe not. But there it was - my own version of neoprene clad goddess worship. And since then I've been talking to the water the way I wish my family talked to me; what do you have to tell me today? what can I do to please you? how can  I thank you?

Today I arrived at the water's edge and found it colder than usual, rougher and deeper too. The white water kept coming,  and getting past the impact zone was a struggle. I tried to catch a wave and, for the first time, experienced being held down by successive waves. After getting knocked down a second time, I stepped back and started talking: do you not want me here today? should I get out? are you not in the mood?

She just boiled and boiled and I related it to my son wanting to nurse, or my husband wanting to have sex, when I've got other things on my mind, other things to do, and a whole world inside me they can't imagine. So I stepped back farther - like I wish they would on those kind of days. Because I know how I can snap when I don't want to be bothered.

I watched other surfers struggle where I had struggled. Get knocked down where I'd been knocked down. Finally I watched a lifeguard help drag lifeguard station 20 a couple of yards away from the water. With this storm coming and the current budget crisis, he told me, they can't afford to lose the station to a surge.

Today was definitely a day to respect your mother.

Sunday with the Surf Chicks

Brian took Trinity camping in Joshua Tree for the weekend, leaving me and Ashton to our own devices. Yesterday was a slow bore that ended with ice cream for dinner. Consequently, the little man was bouncing off the walls at what should have been his bed time. Determined that it would NOT be the case again, I promised I'd wear him out today. So I took him to the beach to hang with some surfer chics.

I'd run into Amanda Schmitz, the organizer of the 310 Surf Chics, a couple of weeks ago and it had been so nice to see her I thought that, even if I didn't get to surf, it would be cool to hang out on a Sunday morning with some other surf ladies while babysitting my boy. And for the most part, that's what I did. Ashton's current obsession is ping-pong, so I brought some paddles and an orange ball and we hit it back and forth for more than an hour.

But then, the miraculous, the long-hoped for, the wonderful, happened. One surfer, a mom in her forties,  volunteered to look after Ashton and another surfer volunteered a board. I spent a few minutes on the fence - due to what I think is a pinched nerve in my shoulder - but then realized a little pain was not going to stop me from the surf session I've been dreaming of for almost a year.

You know, the one in which the surfing village gets together to support this mom to get in the water - even when she has her kids with her. Yeah, that dream.

It came true today.

Be a Surfer

Today was a glittering gorgeous day. One of those days that makes me extra-aware of the fact that I live in Southern California and not The Bronx, London or Chicago.

Still, I was on the fence about going out. There were so many ways I could have used those precious two hours during which a friend promised to watch the kids: a last-minute private school tour, a coffee shop wi-fi session with my book proposal, a yoga class, a veg-out with Netflix or Hulu.

But surfing is fun, serves my life's purpose, stirs my creativity and keeps me fit. I mean, really. There was no contest.

The waves were flat at first. There was a lot of paddling. I got lazy. And I got pounded. By some really small waves. Why? I wasn't paying attention. I was lollygagging, hanging out, non-committally going for waves, but not really meaning it. I was a "kook", as surfers would say with derision: in surfspeak, a loser.

But then I remembered something, Many years ago, I had a boyfriend named Tim. When I'd told him that I wanted to be a filmmaker, he pulled an old business card out of his rolodex. It said "Spike Lee. Filmmaker." This guy that no one had ever heard of had given it to him years ago at a party.  If you want to be a filmmaker, he was telling me, BE a filmmaker.

And then I got it - be a surfer. Even if I have to pretend. Even if I have to put it on.  Don't ask what Jesus would do. Ask "what would a surfer do?"

Just. Be quiet. And I'll stay in bed.

 
So far, I've discerned that mastering my surfing is largely a matter of mastering my parenting: which is to say, my life in general.  Surfing well and often, in this case, demands I overcome a combination of weak boundaries with the kids and a degree of tending to my own well-being that is not as strong as it could be. 

For instance...

Like many human beings, I like to stay in bed until the last possible moment. Given the right motivation, however, I am capable of early-rising. I’ve worked on enough film shoots to know that, after maybe thirty minutes, getting up at four or five can seem enough like having gotten up at eight or nine - especially after some breakfast and a nice espresso. So one of my goals as a newbie surfer has been to get up for that early morning “dawn patrol” surf session before the kids get up and Brian goes to work.

There’s only one problem... 

While I spent the summer attempting to wean Ashton and train him to sleep in his own bed,  I stopped at the insistence of my frustrated and sleep-deprived husband. Consequently, Ashton still sleeps with me and, as soon as I get out of bed, follows me wherever I go - shrieking and demanding milk and more cuddles. Demanding ME. 

He’s the opposite of an alarm clock. He’s like a siren demanding I stay in bed - a siren I am rarely able to resist. Sometimes I do get up to do early morning yoga but, nine times out of ten, he comes into the living room and climbs on my down-dogging legs. 

This is a challenge I believe few non-mom yogis, and few non-mom surfers, share. Challenges like these are the secret tests of motherhood that most women probably don't expect before they go ahead and have kids. I surely didn't.

It. Working.

Sometimes it all comes together. The childcare. The weather. The tide. The gear. Today was one of those days.

Some new homeschool friends invited us for a play date at Santa Monica's Muscle Beach and I brought my board - just in case there'd be enough moms to look after the rascally Davis children while I caught some waves.  There were only our two families, but the mom (named Haven, just like Brian's grandfather) generously offered to look after them while I went out.

The sun was blinding, the water relatively warm. The waves, small and strong at first, got bigger and more predictable while I was there. And there was only one other surfer. I basically got hammered, but I had fun. And after I remembered some of what I've learned in the last few months, I got hammered less badly.

So much went through my mind while I was out in the water. How I've learned from surfing to look straight ahead of me instead of down all the time. How many people have guiltily shared their fears of waves and water since I started telling people I surf. How pulling my wetsuit down over my booties is preferable to pulling the tops of my booties up over my wetsuit.

And how maybe things aren't as bad, hard, tough, and painful as I've always thought they had to be. Especially now with my new super-duper short haircut that I absolutely love.

Beached

Today I considered, for the first time, that perhaps this recurrent cycle of colds and minor winter illnesses is to be embraced rather than fought. Perhaps the universe is telling me to slow down, take it easy, chill out a bit. Maybe it's telling me to consider how far I've come, rather than dwell on how much further I want to go.

And the universe may have something there...

It's been more than six months since I got this idea to start surfing, longer still since I started dreaming of it at night. In addition to the time I've spent in the water, since then I've read numerous surfing books, watched countless videos and browsed a seemingly endless number of surf-related websites. I've bought gear. I've taped postcards of surfers to the wall above my desk and daydreamed about surfing breaks all over the world map hanging on the same wall.

But aside from the busy work,  actually surfing has led me to discover that while I've spent my life drawn to hard work, concentration and struggle - my pursuit of waves represents the first time I've been drawn to something simply for the joy of it. And I shed some bitter tears recognizing how much it's cost me to pursue suffering over happiness.

But there's always another day - to make new choices, to choose life-giving vitality over doom and gloom.

What I've learned so far is that learning to surf hasn't been about the surfing at all. It's been about my life  and the difference it can make to commit to something - not as compensation for a deprived childhood, not to prove anything to anyone else, not to win status or success, not to become a "better" person - but just because I want to and it brings me joy.

Mom on Board

I didn't expect it, but I made it to the beach this afternoon, just in time to be blinded by the setting sun as I paddled out into the waves. I couldn't see a thing, the light was so bright and no amount of squinting made it better.

It was the first time I really didn't enjoy myself. The water seemed colder than ever before - even with my booties - even though it had been in the seventies and eighties all weekend. And I felt so out of shape, I could barely paddle through the sets rolling in at 4:30 p.m.

Enthusiasm was barely present. Ashton had thrown a fit on my way out the door and insisted on coming with me. Trinity, who'd just started squeezing the lemons she'd picked from our tree, had a fit because that meant she had to come too. She bitched. He whined.

I scowled.

"Not a very zen return to the ocean," I thought as the whole family drove to the beach.

But the absence of enthusiasm was an interesting thing. In a way I'd never experienced before, I was just there. Just in the ocean.  Just being blinded by the sun. Just being annoyed. Just getting hammered by the waves. Just surfing.

And that was just it. Even though there was no epiphany, no revelation, no release from all suffering, I can honestly say - even with the cold, the glare, the bad waves and the bad kids - surfing is better than not surfing. And that's all there is to it.

Lost My Board?

There's really more to say today than can be crammed into one measly blog, so I'll give you some bullet points. But first... Look at that rad picture a nice lady named Nisa took of me on the beach last night. Sweet.

Now for the bullet points:

1) Was gonna buy myself a waterproof watch for Christmas. Then discovered that my favorite watch ever - a red-faced Swiss Army Victorinox from the Sundance Catalog - is waterproof. Presto! Surfing Watch achieved!

2) Got booties: My BFF M.M. bought these superb round toe Infiniti bamboo fiber booties for me as a birthday gift. It took many trips to get them, but get them I finally did.

3) Took the booties for a spin at sunset last night. Made me realize how much I tolerate being uncomfortable and then wondered where else in my life am I doing the equivalent of surfing in bitterly cold water without my booties?

4) Went out again just before sunset tonight and it was ecstasy, booties and all. Caught the best ride of my surfing life so far. Not feeling cold may make a huge difference.

5) The water was silver blue glass under the setting sun and the waves were 0-1 feet. That means small - really small. But perfect for me.

6) In my post-surfing ecstatic bliss,  I watched the final light of dusk before driving home.

7) Without strapping my board to my car.

8) And heard it fly off the roof as I rode home on the 10 Freeway.

9) Yep. Lost my board.

10) Um huh. Brian's on his way right now to check if it's still there. Stay tuned...