Some things are hard to explain

A collection of memories

We walked the beach today. Life has been busy and unfortunately it’s been awhile. It was fairly crowded because it’s 4th of July week. We chatted with some people we didn’t know, and some people we didn’t know chatted with us. One of the charms of the south is that you never meet a stranger. No matter what happens to this tiny paradise, I hope that never goes away.

I had this long article written up to send out this week. Then I realized, much to your benefit, that nobody wants to hear me go on and on about what I think is important in life. So, today I present to you a collection of photographs that include a small slice of some really excellent memories in my life. If you notice, they are all about the ocean.

Whether it was the ice cold, brain freeze, powerful waters of the Northern California Pacific, or the sun baked bathtub pond ripple waters of the South Florida Atlantic, the ocean draws a certain type of person. I’ve met surfers ranging from the stereotypical burnout to the multimillionaire entrepreneur, and as far apart in character as they seem, they all have a connection to the ocean that is almost indescribable.

I tried to think of other activities that would be equivalent to the feeling you get from surfing, but I can’t. I wondered if this is what climbers feel when they look at a mountain they are about to ascend. Is there a connection? Is the mountain staring at them saying, “Go ahead, give it your best shot!” It makes me wonder if our undeniable attraction to the water has anything to do with being physically in the ocean, surrounded by it, submerged in it, alive in it, part of it. You can’t do that with a mountain and enjoy it.

The ocean lures you in with its soft landings and crumbly foam, until you go out on a day where the crash of the breaking waves are some of the loudest sounds you’ve ever heard. There is nothing as intensely scary as a wipe out with an ensuing three wave hold down, where the ocean is so strong it won’t let you move and all you can manage, before you run out of air, is to pull yourself up to the surface by your leash attached to your board floating somewhere above you. Or your attempts to swim to the surface are nullified by the amount of air in the churning water, you flail you arms and legs but it gets you nowhere. It feels like you’re being pulled slowly down into the abyss.

But somehow all that power, grace, and unorganized chaotic organization occasionally allows you to have a moment of perceived control, a moment of pure joy and exhilaration as you feel a wave pick you up and glide you down across its smooth surface. The connection fostered leaves an indelible mark on one’s psyche. It’s a feeling I hope you all get to experience some day. I hope you all get to feel the soft spray of warm ocean water across your face as you glide effortlessly under the lip of a perfect wave.