Missing Surf in the Days of COVID-19

I have so much to be grateful for in this strange unprecedented time. My loved ones. My health. A stable source of income. And I think about that and dwell in that gratitude every day.

But I’m struggling with the closures of the beaches due to COVID-19.

Not being able to pull up, wax my board and paddle out—not being able to call up friends for an early morning pre work session, not feeling that happiest of feelings as I pop up and ride the face—I really miss it. It’s like a hole in my heart. It’s like a phantom limb.

I’m so grateful for what I have. And I can stand behind measures to keep us safe, 100%. But it doesn’t mean I’m wild for it. It doesn’t mean I’m not going bananas when I drive by the beach [which I haven’t been able to stop doing] and there’s just peeling glass. Endless peeling glass and not a bobbing neoprene donning body in sight.

It’s been 2-3 weeks or more since I last got into the ocean and I’m feeling it. I’m feeling buzzy, itchy, grumpy. My skin is suffering—that salt water in the winter has been such a salve against the awful ornery New England winters. And frankly, some days I feel a direct correlation with my confidence level. Surfing for me, is such an instant boost to my confidence and my energy. It instantly makes me feel happy. It instantly makes me feel good. I miss that. Miss it really bad.

I know what I need to do. I need to take advantage of all the surf workouts being posted, I need to get back into my surfboard making project I’ve been doing with Maddie, I need to visualize and dream myself on the water. I need to watch the endless queue of surfing movies I have saved. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to stay focused, stay in shape and dream of surf. In the words of Kolohe Kai—”I’ve got a date with Ms Blue.” The date’s just TBD.

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Cerrando Circulos: On Old Chapters Closing, New Chapters Opening

Yesterday was my final day at work at Boston University, where I’ve been working since May 2013.

I got to campus early and headed to Life Alive to have some coffee and finish up a couple thank you notes I had yet to write for my team. And as I was sitting there at the bar, waiting for my coffee, writing my note to my mentor Sara Rimer, Michael Kiwanuka’s song Home Again came on. In that exact moment, I had literally been thinking: It has been so helpful for me to have a woman like Sara in my life, especially with my mother gone.

That song came on and I was knocked off my feet. It was like being swept away by a wave.

I first heard that song years ago, right after my mother died. I remember it so clearly. I was sitting on a bean bag chair in Restoration Hardware and it came on. These lyrics pierced my heart like an arrow:

Home again
Home again
One day I know
I'll feel home again
Born again
Born again
One day I know
I'll feel strong again

In that time of my life, I was so broken and so lost. I missed my mother so much and I had so many regrets that wracked my heart about what I could have done differently while she was alive. And I remember hearing the words of that song and just longing to feel that way again someday. Home again. Strong again. Feeling so very far away—like I was looking at that state of being from a distant shore.

Seven years later, sitting at the counter of Life Alive, it came on. And I realized I felt that way. Home. Strong. So grateful for where I am in my life, who I have in my life, and where I am and where I’m heading.

I have literally never heard that song in public any other time but those two—Restoration Hardware and Life Alive, yesterday.

And this is why I believe in everything. Believe in magic, believe my mother is still shining up there and keeping tabs on me, believe in the starry connections, fairy dust, the whole thing.

In a moment the light switched off and it was only stars for miles.

On Lafayette Road, Strength from Firewater

I drove on that stretch of Lafayette, between Tidewater Campground and Life Storage, where the road bisects the marsh. On my left, the ocean lay a mile or two off, on my right, forest. It was morning, and the water of the marsh caught the light and reflected it back, orange fire. Everything glowed and it was so so quiet.

This was a moment that entered my heart and infused it with the strength and magic I would need. It was all so beautiful, and so available to me, right here, miles from home, on a morning drive.

I had entered that year repeating over and over, I just have to get stronger. And I wasn’t quite sure why, at times, those words, that mantra, rumbled through my heart over and over.

But I know when I saw the moonstone water diffusing the fire of the sky, it breathed power and strength into me. Much needed. Strength I would draw on a few short months later.