Parameters

Back when I lived near Portland I drove out to the coast just about every single Thursday to go surfing. Two hours to get there, two hours to get back. Assuming traffic is good. So that’s a four-hour round-trip, for anywhere from two to eight hours of surfing, depending on conditions and how quickly/badly I injured myself (there was this one time when I was pretty sure I’d broken my arm- fortunately I hadn’t, but it did bring my surf day screeching to a sooner-than-might-be-desired halt). Sometimes I’d only catch one good wave all day long, but I always, always felt it was worth it.

Today Mom and I made the drive back to Alabama. It took me about nine hours to get home to Birmingham. So that was eighteen hours of driving (although Mom did relieve me for two of them) for about six hours of surfing, during which I had maybe five truly good rides. Also I spent three nights sleeping on a floor with a sheet, which is not the ideal sort of rest for sore muscles.

Worth it?

I’d have to say yes. But I’d have to say it with the sort of hesitation that comes from waking up to an ankle you hadn’t realized was sprained until it stiffened up during slumber. Yes with the sort of hesitation that comes from being exhausted as hell after driving longer than you’d normally have spent working. Yes, it was worth it, but no- I couldn’t do it every week. Or even every month. But definitely more than once every two-and-a-half years. So I guess that gives us an idea of the parameters of my devotion.

To tell the truth I have a bit of fear in my belly, now that I’m back. It was so joyful to be surfing again (especially yesterday’s experience) and I have that joy still racing through my bloodstream, buoying me up. But the flipside to that is that I’m dreading the gradual loss of the joy. The way it will inevitably drain away and I will have to go back to longing for it. And not being able to have it. And crying because I miss it so badly. And I know I shouldn’t think about that- I should focus on the now-happiness rather than the coming-despair, lest I taint the Now, but it’s hard.