Learn How to Surf

Twenty-four years later I wonder what took me so long to pick up a surfboard.  “Learn to Surf.” It’s has constantly been nagging at me in the back of my head.  Finally, July 10, 2008 I learned to surf.  It will definitely not be my last.  There is something about surfing that feels good.  It was one of the few times in my life where I was completely worry free.  The other time was driving up the Pacific Coast Highway.  I guess there is just something alluring about the ocean.

After surfing, I wanted to walk around (something I do a lot when I’m around an area I haven’t been before.)  It’s amazing the amount of detail you notice when you walk.  You see the buildings and their names.  You see people and how they interact with one another.  The aroma of the ocean and of the food.  It’s too perfect.  I definitely love life in the slow lane.  I wish the rest of the world was the same.  My growling stomach reminded me lunch time was fast approaching. As much as I love the slow lane, I needed to eat.  Then it happened – the sweet seducing smell of a bakery.  So seductive infact that I had trouble picking out what to eat (as usual).  I asked for a recommendation. And I walked out with this monster (fork used to estimate size.)

The most monstrous cinnamon bun I have ever seen.  They asked if I wanted icing to which I quickly said “yes.”  She pulls out this large pitcher and pours on the icing generously.  I was just speechless at that moment.

We decided to walk the pier.  It was here where I was simply captivated.  A group of about 30-40 kids were in the middle of the pier for what looks like a life guard training exercise.  Kids lined up to jump off the pier down to the water.

Standing on the ledge was this little girl (not pictured) holding on for dear life.  Hesitating and stepping back grabbing on the the handrail.  Five minutes go by.  Ten minutes go by and she still stands there as her friends leap off.  From my perspective, the water didn’t seem that far and there were life guards on waverunners.  I just stood and watched about what she was going to do.  Trying to put myself in her mindset.  What kind of fear was it?  Was it the fear of drowning or heights?  How about the fear of not being accepted because she didn’t jump? What exactly was it that was so frightening for her. A whistle sounds – last call for everyone on deck to jump.  This was her time – her ultimatum.  If she couldn’t jump then needed to get off and walk back.  “Three. Two. One.”  I see her quietly counting down to herself.  She leaps off eyes closed, swinging her arms while letting out a screeching scream.  The sound of the splash accompanies friends cheering for her.  She surfaces from the water completely enthusiastic that she actually did it.  Another girl hops over the handrail on to the beam to jump.  The same fear grips her.  She doesn’t have the luxury of time as the whistle has already sounded.  But I hear the girl who just jumped scream from the bottom, “If I can do it, then you can definitely do it!”

She was a stranger, but I was proud of her and for her.  I don’t know why specifically, but it made me smile and it made my day.  Just recalling the event simply makes me feel good.