I didn’t surf on inauguration day. It’s been raining violently in California, and when I woke up, peeked outside my bedroom window and saw scattered whitecaps off on the horizon, I knew the parts of the ocean I couldn’t see from that window – the parts I like to play in most, where cylindrical little walls of water spit more water out from their hollow ends – wouldn’t be an inviting sight.
I do love the rain, though. It’s been a change of scenery in the mostly dry, mostly moderate Los Angeles climate. I didn’t take this as a coincidence that “change” was the theme of the day in America. And given all the chatter on social media and the constant doomsday headlines I anticipated for the day, this would have been as good a time as any to start with a surf and gather my own thoughts. You see, I’ve never been on board with the whole “surfing is my escape” bandwagon. Quite the opposite. I find that I can’t escape anything at all when I’m sitting in the ocean, waiting for a wave to come my way while I awkwardly sit alone with my thoughts. So I run to the ocean to face my dilemmas, get creative, get inspired, or whatever the day calls for. The girl I find myself a tad smitten by but can’t seem to ask out, the fights or frustrations with a loved one, my insecurities, my hopes, my ambitions, the things I’m most excited about in life or perhaps scared of – all these things and plenty more are fair game to mull over, sort out, dwell on, daydream and overthink.
The beautiful contradiction, and perhaps the secret to it all, is that while 99% of our time in the water is spent silently and anxiously waiting for waves (where all that overthinking takes place), the five seconds we’re gifted on a wave are fully dedicated to that very moment. So I suppose if nothing else the actual act of riding a wave can offer a little bit of respite from my own hyperactive mind. Then, poof. The moment and wave are both gone. And rather than try to recreate the exact same wave and repeat the exact same dance as we would frantically do in other walks of life, we paddle back out with hope that the next ride will somehow be even better. That same undying hope, as I see it, is what really makes even the saltiest of surfers a bit of a romantic. I imagine this is where all the magic happens and I end up leaving the water feeling better than before I entered. And maybe I’ll have an answer or two for everything occupying my thoughts.
As you’d guess, those thoughts and questions running through my mind on this morning all revolved around the transfer of power between our 44th and 45th presidents. I’d wanted to avoid adding to the negativity and griping I knew would take over my smartphone for the weekend. I wanted the day to be peaceful and I certainly wanted everybody I know to end it all with hope for tomorrow. My biggest concerns had nothing to do with President Trump, rather, will an already divided country find a way to come closer together over the next four years? I was digging for answers but coming up with nothing. Meanwhile, storyteller extraordinaire Yogi Roth was going about finding positivity (and answers) in his own way. “What’s it mean to be human?” he asked me to start our conversation. He’d been asking this same question of people all over Los Angeles as a way to capture the mood of a historic day – other surfers, people on the streets, complete strangers and close friends. It’s a heavy icebreaker.
“Being torn apart is not what it means to be human,” Roth says. “We don’t wear negativity and hate. Not being human is feeling – in a moment – what is happening. But – in a moment – being so connected that it feels like magic.”
I don’t think my response was nearly as profound as Yogi’s. But we talked it out anyway. We talked about what it means to be human and followed it up with what it means to be an American. And then we talked some more, this time mulling over how those crazy, fleeting but awesome moments on a wave – whether I’m riding them five blocks away from home or halfway across the world – shape each experience. He never once asked who and what I voted for. He never asked me to share my feelings on our new president. It honestly was a brilliant way to have a conversation about what we do believe in, what we want for the world and for each other. I think those are the things that matter. But for once I realize I wouldn’t have come to that understanding on my own while chasing waves.
“When pressed and asked ‘What does it mean to be human?’ we all actually agree; it’s to be awake and alive,” Roth assures. It’s one of those simple but profound ways to be reminded that underneath all the worries, we’re each after some of the same core things. Maybe not all of them. But certainly enough worth giving some attention. I’d argue these are the things that deserve most of our attention and energy.
So it’s amazing how many more answers you’ll find when you ask others, rather than trying to figure it all out on your own. Even if the question that sparks it all seems quite simple. And even if it means you don’t get to surf.
