My aunt passed away more than a week ago. She lost a long battle with cancer a month before turning 50. As my mom’s eulogy noted, even with an unrelenting sickness that took a toll on her body, she never complained or gave up hope. An awful disease couldn’t hold her spirits down or extinguish her sense of humor. For instance, on her death bed, showing showing flashes of dark wit, my aunt joked about have a bonfire in the backyard with her ashes.
The lyrics of “I Can See Clearly Now” were printed on the back of the funeral program. In these words I see her personality and what drew so many to the funeral. Even the funeral home’s owner remarked the only time he sees that many people crowded into the building is when a polygamous dies. After all, we were in Utah.
I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me down
It’s gonna be a bright bright bright bright sun shiny day
It’s gonna be a bright bright bright bright sun shiny day
Oh yes I can make it now the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is that rainbow I’ve been praying for
It’s gonna be a bright bright bright bright sun shiny day
Look all around there’s nothing but blue skies
Look straight ahead there’s nothing but blue skies
Before she passed away, I began writing an unrelated post about surfing the day after a storm. My post unintentionally echoes, both literally and figuratively, a song that personifies my aunt. In no way does a small post from a self-described “24-year-old wonderboy and surfer” on Tumblr even come close to capturing her personality or adequately celebrating her essence. Truth be told, I didn’t talk with my aunt very often after I moved to San Diego. Something I truly regret because we had so many things - like sarcasm and an appreciation of books - in common. Even though the post wasn’t directly written about her, it’s the best I could muster, and I think a fitting tribute to someone who knew that storms always blow away, and that blue skies are right around the corner.
I awake to a gray sky and a thin mist of fog that seems to blotch out all but the most drab colors. It stopped raining, but the remnants of yesterday’s storm can be seen in the clouds. Unfortunately my first thoughts are anxious ones, recalling memories that refuse to loosen their vice grip on my brain. Trying to focus on something else, I glance outside my window. Leaves and branches are motionless on the trees that line my streets, meaning only one thing: an absence of wind. Since Zeus was kind enough not to send a strong breeze through San Diego, I mentally check off “wind” on the list of things that ruin a surf session. The rest of the variables that make a good surf session, including swell and tide? I can’t say considering I’m still 15 minutes from catching a glimpse of the surf.
My body is extremely resistant to the idea of waking up before 7 a.m. And 7:30, give or take 10 minutes, is when the 56-W becomes choked by traffic. Therefore, I have brief window of time in which I have to wake up, grab all necessary items for surfing and pile into my car.
Unfortunately the interior of my car is a victim of a rushed pre-surf routine that requires a fair amount of multi-tasking. Gripping my steering wheel with one hand, the other holds a cereal bowl, the contents of which slosh out when I brake abruptly. It’s no wonder passengers riding in my car often complain about accidentally crunching cheerios into the soles of their shoes. Since my hands are occupied with eating and steering, my body is forced to contain an unwieldy surfboard that slams into me when I turn sharply.
Cars brake intermittently on the 56-W, briefly slowing down without stopping. I managed to beat traffic. Occasionally my mind gravitates to unpleasant thoughts, I try to tell myself I’m only a few minutes away from Black’s Beach.
The thoughts don’t stop - not even when I begin the 15 minute descent down the winding dirt path to the beach. Not even when I see flowers in bloom on the hillside and the expanse of the Pacific Ocean unfolds in front of me. Not even when trail spills into the beach. It’s like two different channels are playing side-by-side on one T.V. screen. I appreciate the beach and the waves on the left hand side of the T.V., but my eyes can’t help but dart to the right hand of the screen where those negative thoughts and emotions captivate part of my attention.
From the beach the waves only look shoulder high. But Black’s can be deceptive. What look to be powerless head-high waves from the shore can take on a more serious quality once you paddle out. I hop on my board and begin digging my arms through the water, fighting a seemingly endless stream of waves. Finally a lull hits and I reach the outside. I give one nearby surfer a friendly nod, as if to acknowledge we’ve both been granted access to an exclusive club. We both slipped past the bouncer and get to experience a good swell at Black’s Beach - something most surfers complain they don’t get to experience enough.
A lot of water is moving back and forth - the push and pull of approaching and crashing waves. As waves draw near, I rise up with them. After they pass me, I’m slowly lowered back down - as if on a teeter-totter - as they reach shallow waters and topple onto the sand.
Those anxious thoughts are still there, but they don’t have the same energy. Feeling the waves, that push and pull - experiencing that weightless, effortless drop into the first big wave I paddle into. It’s not a cure or a solution, mainly a reminder that thoughts, like waves, come and go. And that things will probably be OK.
