Missing Swell

Why do we want everything all the time?We want to be punk rock and gentle. Get attention and be left alone. Eat animals and save them. Have dreams and be present too.

I’ve missed a lot of swells since I’ve had kids.I make up for it on the weekends. I wake up to their calls for me, like they couldn’t wait another second to be on me or they’d pass out.

We pack them in the car and then I pass them off on my mom or Scott so I can sink into the water. I come back salty, smiling, drenched, and they run to me. They sleep and we sleep. Scott and I make nachos and hope it will rain. Most of the week, though, I drive by empty offshore magic on the way to someone’s swimming lesson.

Missing a swell. Waiting day after day to get back. Then you’re there again and you’re mad the ocean didn’t miss you. It’s just been carrying on as though it doesn’t even remember throwing all those rocks on top of sand last week. As though it wasn’t in a bad mood yesterday, or three weeks ago. That shark attack in the fall might as well have been two centuries ago. The ocean doesn’t keep track of time. So you can’t be mad at her because she wouldn’t give a shit anyways.

She gives you a place for your feelings. She lets you hold her grace. She gives you sweet momentum. Forgiveness. I try to learn from her.Riding waves is so elegant and so pointless. 

Love: taking shape.

+surf photos: Sarah Lee