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Surfing but staying in a quiet place

August 3, 2013

There are some days when you just want to get through them without anyone asking you to do anything. There’s a quiet liberation to those particular days. There are some people who confuse living in the now with being selfish and doing everything they want.

I spent the day at the beach. I needed a recharge. Just being by my car, unstrapping the board, and my wetsuit at my feet in a bag, I stop and think about being in  a chair receiving chemo through a port embedded above my collarbone to kill a tumor from testicular cancer. WHat a chance to be back in the movie again. Because mortality runs through everything as a contrast everything has a deeper color and feel, and in stops me and I enjoy it.

Out in the water, I keep to myself unless I know someone, or a person looks confused and needs help. But for the most part, there are so m,any clueless people. They get mad at “old guys”–neglecting the face, many of those guys have surfed for twenty to thirty years. And there are so many of these women out in the water who were never in the water before. And of how they sit on their boards and yak with each other, about bowel movements, what college their kid is going to, restaurants. Man, one woman was coaching two other women, and putting them, in the way of more experienced surfers. Most of them will act like jerks, and if they’re called on it, sic their husband orDad or boyfriend on you. I never speak to them. And they paddle around and say hello to each other like they’re going from table to table at a PTA or condo organization meeting. If there was a tray of crackers and cheese and wine floating out there, it would be complete. And many of them will be so friendly to each other and without any hesitation paddle around others and snake waves ot blatantly drop in front of other surfers. There are clueless guys, who these women usually know.

I observe but don’t get into it with them. I feel they are their own problem., and by being quiet and not getting into a conversation, you are establishing your territorial stand–they understand silence means they can;t talk their way into trespassing. And are they horrible surfers. Angling across the wave and stiff, I can;t watch them–it’s like they’re tagging the wave with graffiti. They don’t believe in rules. To them it’s an ocean and it’s for evberyone. Translation: For them.

One guy took off behind me after I was on the wave, and I tried to walk to the nose on my slightly numbed feet, only to have him actually come parallel and below me on the face of the wave. We collide. He goes, “You okay.” I stared at him. He said, “You okay, Freed?” I had no idea who this goon was. I only nodded and held up my hands. No bonding, thank you. He didn’t do that again to me.

I get of the water, feeling stronger, and glad I had a full-time day.

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