I've been in NYC for a few months now and can say that there is not much about Southern California that I miss. Aside from In-n-Out burger and real Mexican food, pretty much everything else a mid twenty-something could want is in NYC. Above all, about everything can be found 24 hours a day. The only part of Southern California that I truly miss is surfing. A few weeks ago, I wrote about the chance encounter I had with surfing in Germany. Searching through all of my old surfing photos stirred a sense of nostalgia. I miss my high school and college days of surfing before, after and sometimes during class. Surfing was not only my life, it was who I was. I identified myself as a surfer. I would forgo long nights of partying to catch waves at first light. In college was where my surfing blossomed. If the waves were good, I would not go to class. It was that simple.
This theory was soon ditched when I showed up to class one morning to find the professor passing out the midterm examination and the rest of my class mates scanning notes for a scurried last minute review. Needless to say, the midterm score was not my shining collegiate moment. Instead of missing class for waves, I changed my schedule the following semester. I would never again take a class before noon, or after 4 p.m. This way, I could dawn patrol in the morning, get back to my apartment to collect my notes and books, and be seated in class, salty and ready to learn. If it was a good day, I would still stay in the water, I just made sure there were no tests that day. Some days, I would head straight back to the beach after class. Surfing had become such an obsession that I changed my everyday life to score more waves. All of this changed when I went to England on a study abroad semester. Once I studied abroad, the lack of surfing was something I threw aside because I was too busy enjoying London. At the time, t
he same drive that made me surf made me eager to explore Europe. Before I really realized it, my study abroad semester had come to an end and I had gone nearly six months without catching a wave. When I returned from England, I went back to my old ways. I spent every worthwhile moment of the summer in the water. I went to Hawaii and surfed all day for a few weeks. The beginning of the decline in my surfing started in August a few weeks after my return from Hawaii. This is when I started my upper division courses. Now, I had engagements to take care of after class hours. I could no longer miss class and still get the A. It
was the start of more challenging courses and major work. It was time to actually study. Now, I was a few times a week type of surfer. I could still challenge for peaks in almost any crowd, and most of the time, pick off set waves. My surfing remained steady for that semester, but once I started reporting for the Daily Titan newspaper, I could no longer surf in the afternoon. Most of my afternoons during the week were booked up for interviews and fact gathering for stories. My duties were extended outside of the classroom. My last year of college was even worse for surfing. Weekends I spent working. Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday mornings were reserved for flipping pizzas. Tuesdays and Thursdays were internship days. Monday and Wednesday I spent all day in class. Above that, I was an editor for the paper at this point, which means all plans for Sunday through Wednesday evenings were out the window. Instead of catching waves, I was editing mostly drivel and fitting them on a page. The amount of appalling writing was rampant. A majority of the stories were closer to a jumble of fragments than actual story. More times than not students, who were supposedly studying to become writers, would hand me 500 - 1,000 words of pulp. But I digress. After college, I worked fairly close to the beach, which was a bonus. The downside to this is that office work of that nature required my presence at my desk from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., and many times later. For two-thirds of the year, this is not that bad. You can still catch several hours of waves in spring, summer and fall after 6 p.m. The winter is a different story because it is dark long before the dream of escaping the computer sets in. The early start also takes away from a dawn patrol. It would be cutting it close to surf, dry off, get dressed and inch through traffic to be in front of the monitor before 8:30. Before I moved to NYC, I surfed as much as humanly possible for a person with a 9 to 5. I was getting back to shades of my former surfing self. Then I moved. I love NYC and all that it has to offer, but I know that I will not live here forever. I realize that I need to surf. It is a part of me that has been missing since mid-September. I still check Surfline all of the time, but each time I do, something inside me says that I need to get back in the water. Each time I read the report from one of my familiar
spots, I get an anxious, bunched up feeling. I still get the texts from my dad, telling me how good the surf was. I'll get the calls to. He will describe every drop, turn, cut and section of every wave he caught that day. Every once and again, he'll toss in a photo too. I miss that. I miss flying down the line, watching my dad as he watches me. I miss watching him surf too. It is fitting that he still includes me in his surfing, after all, he is the person who got me started. On my tenth birthday, he bought me a used 5"10 Sakal short board. That board collected dust until I was 15. Once friends got licenses and cars, the beach was easily accessible. In a few months, I was surfing. The Sakal did not last long. Six inches of that board is still stuck in the sand in Huntington Beach. I tried to take off on a shore break rebuild. At the time, I did not have the skill for that wave and it showed in the state of my board. After a nose dive over the falls in the shore break the board snapped, starting a long line of board breaking. At the time, the broken board was devastating, but now, it is just another fond memory of surfing. Surfing has given me many great memories with friends, family and also solo. I used surfing as a bonding tool. I made friends through surfing. I strengthened relationships through surfing. I also surfed all the time by myself. It is a great relaxing mechanism. When you paddle for a wave, everything else is put on the back burner. The moment you throw yourself over the ledge of a wave, the ride is the only thing that matters. Because of these thoughts I know that one day I'll answer surfing's siren song again.
I've been in NYC for a few months now and can say that there is not much about Southern California that I miss. Aside from In-n-Out burger and real Mexican food, pretty much everything else a mid twenty-something could want is in NYC. Above all, about everything can be found 24 hours a day. The only part of Southern California that I truly miss is surfing. A few weeks ago, I wrote about the chance encounter I had with surfing in Germany. Searching through all of my old surfing photos stirred a sense of nostalgia. I miss my high school and college days of surfing before, after and sometimes during class. Surfing was not only my life, it was who I was. I identified myself as a surfer. I would forgo long nights of partying to catch waves at first light. In college was where my surfing blossomed. If the waves were good, I would not go to class. It was that simple. 
This theory was soon ditched when I showed up to class one morning to find the professor passing out the midterm examination and the rest of my class mates scanning notes for a scurried last minute review. Needless to say, the midterm score was not my shining collegiate moment. Instead of missing class for waves, I changed my schedule the following semester. I would never again take a class before noon, or after 4 p.m. This way, I could dawn patrol in the morning, get back to my apartment to collect my notes and books, and be seated in class, salty and ready to learn. If it was a good day, I would still stay in the water, I just made sure there were no tests that day. Some days, I would head straight back to the beach after class. Surfing had become such an obsession that I changed my everyday life to score more waves. All of this changed when I went to England on a study abroad semester. Once I studied abroad, the lack of surfing was something I threw aside because I was too busy enjoying London. At the time, t
he same drive that made me surf made me eager to explore Europe. Before I really realized it, my study abroad semester had come to an end and I had gone nearly six months without catching a wave. When I returned from England, I went back to my old ways. I spent every worthwhile moment of the summer in the water. I went to Hawaii and surfed all day for a few weeks. The beginning of the decline in my surfing started in August a few weeks after my return from Hawaii. This is when I started my upper division courses. Now, I had engagements to take care of after class hours. I could no longer miss class and still get the A. It 
was the start of more challenging courses and major work. It was time to actually study. Now, I was a few times a week type of surfer. I could still challenge for peaks in almost any crowd, and most of the time, pick off set waves. My surfing remained steady for that semester, but once I started reporting for the Daily Titan newspaper, I could no longer surf in the afternoon. Most of my afternoons during the week were booked up for interviews and fact gathering for stories. My duties were extended outside of the classroom. My last year of college was even worse for surfing. Weekends I spent working. Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday mornings were reserved for flipping pizzas. Tuesdays and Thursdays were internship days. Monday and Wednesday I spent all day in class. Above that, I was an editor for the paper at this point, which means all plans for Sunday through Wednesday evenings were out the window. Instead of catching waves, I was editing mostly drivel and fitting them on a page. The amount of appalling writing was rampant. A majority of the stories were closer to a jumble of fragments than actual story. More times than not students, who were supposedly studying to become writers, would hand me 500 - 1,000 words of pulp. But I digress. After college, I worked fairly close to the beach, which was a bonus. The downside to this is that office work of that nature required my presence at my desk from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., and many times later. For two-thirds of the year, this is not that bad. You can still catch several hours of waves in spring, summer and fall after 6 p.m. The winter is a different story because it is dark long before the dream of escaping the computer sets in. The early start also takes away from a dawn patrol. It would be cutting it close to surf, dry off, get dressed and inch through traffic to be in front of the monitor before 8:30. Before I moved to NYC, I surfed as much as humanly possible for a person with a 9 to 5. I was getting back to shades of my former surfing self. Then I moved. I love NYC and all that it has to offer, but I know that I will not live here forever. I realize that I need to surf. It is a part of me that has been missing since mid-September. I still check Surfline all of the time, but each time I do, something inside me says that I need to get back in the water. Each time I read the report from one of my familiar 
spots, I get an anxious, bunched up feeling. I still get the texts from my dad, telling me how good the surf was. I'll get the calls to. He will describe every drop, turn, cut and section of every wave he caught that day. Every once and again, he'll toss in a photo too. I miss that. I miss flying down the line, watching my dad as he watches me. I miss watching him surf too. It is fitting that he still includes me in his surfing, after all, he is the person who got me started. On my tenth birthday, he bought me a used 5"10 Sakal short board. That board collected dust until I was 15. Once friends got licenses and cars, the beach was easily accessible. In a few months, I was surfing. The Sakal did not last long. Six inches of that board is still stuck in the sand in Huntington Beach. I tried to take off on a shore break rebuild. At the time, I did not have the skill for that wave and it showed in the state of my board. After a nose dive over the falls in the shore break the board snapped, starting a long line of board breaking. At the time, the broken board was devastating, but now, it is just another fond memory of surfing. Surfing has given me many great memories with friends, family and also solo. I used surfing as a bonding tool. I made friends through surfing. I strengthened relationships through surfing. I also surfed all the time by myself. It is a great relaxing mechanism. When you paddle for a wave, everything else is put on the back burner. The moment you throw yourself over the ledge of a wave, the ride is the only thing that matters. Because of these thoughts I know that one day I'll answer surfing's siren song again.
No comments:
Post a Comment