All streams flow to the sea
because it is lower than they are.
Humility gives it its power.


Tao Te Ching - Verse 27
(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)
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Open water makes me, well, uneasy. I try not to think about it while surfing. You know the ocean is monster soup if you’ve seen any deep sea fishing show or Discovery Channel-type television in your lifetime.

I saw a porpoise fin breach the surface on the paddle out last weekend. “That was a porpoise, right? Sharks don’t swim around here.” That’s what I convinced myself anyway.

At one point I was out way past the pier, closer to the fishing boats than the lifeguard chairs. “It’s so peaceful out here,” I lied to myself, praying those guys weren’t chumming. I mean you’re just floating bait; that’s reality.

It’s a good thing the water isn’t clear enough to see what’s lurking down below because there’s absolutely no chance I’d be out there if I could. Blind ignorance is key.

There was only one other guy out there with me at one point and I thought about shouting, “I’ll tell your family if a shark swallows you if you’ll do the same for me!” Can you tell I’m good at making friends?

I was thinking how I’d never have the balls to swim out that far on my own, but somehow a hunk of fiberglass makes it all okay. As if that’s a monster deterrent, or an efficient means of transportation if a riptide decides to pull you out to sea.

Ahh, Nature: Aren’t you humbling? You have the power to drag us under and smash us to the sand, or feed us to your children, yet we choose to weigh those risks against the reward of your cheap and simple thrills.

I just hope I’m not remembered as the guy who used to show up at the gym talking about surfing until one day, well, he just stopped coming. That’s not the legacy I want to leave behind, ya know? Yet here I am, dreaming about the next time a good swell comes rolling into shore.
If this blog runs dry some day, just pray I gave up writing.