And so I sat, on the beach, with my board, and watched, from a safe distance the waves crashing.
I had had many lessons, and even caught a wave or two, in the past…but something had changed.
My last time out was hard, and work, and deadly, almost.
I’m not sure how it happened, maybe I wasn’t paying attention, or listening to my heart, or watching the break. It happened fast, but I knew that one wave, had been in motion for an eternity.
It swept me up fast, and under even quicker, and I lost my bearings.
I could not breathe.
For a moment I heard nothing. And then I heard my heartbeat, pounding.
Somewhere I knew my board was surfacing, and I, connected to it, was struggling to find daylight.
This was the end. I was tired. My lungs were burning and I knew I could not hold my breath much longer.
The salt was stinging my eyes and making me very aware of my various bumps, bruises and cuts that were all too real.
I felt everything, every pain, every ache, every fear, and then, for a moment, I felt nothing.
Silence.
Everything became calm. The ocean above me stood still, and with one last burst, it released me and I shot to the top. I made it. I was alive.
So now, many months later, I sat quietly on a different beach, with my board carefully waxed and my leash safely attached to my ankle, and I watched.
The waves were rough, the sets fast, and the breaks uncertain. Rip tide warnings were posted and sharks…well they were an always present danger.
I watched and waited, maybe tomorrow conditions would be better. People would understand, certainly, if I just watched.
And then, just then, I heard it.
The silence. The calm. The peace.
I gathered my board and made my way to the surf. I didn’t know what the day would hold, but I knew it would be empty for me if I did not try.
I knew when I returned to the beach again, I would be bruised, and a little dented, but it would be worth it.
I stepped, into the liquid, and nothing has ever been the same
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