On Sunday, Elsa, Harry and I took a surf lesson down at Hull Bay. The sky was blue with white buoyant clouds and hillsides that cradled the bay were a robust collection of verdant greens dotted with houses in colors like turquoise, lavender, coral and yellow. Above the reef, the water was dark indigo specked with shades of green as well as bright aqua marine where the channel's white sand glowed below. We headed out out with our soft boards on the dinghy, a luxury of having a surf instructor.
Our teacher, Adam, was excited for our beginners' minds and assuaged our novice fears as he reported how great the conditions were and that the reef, which makes the waves crest and surf worthy, was deep below us. The swell was perfect and allowed us space to read the waves, understand their timing and coordinate our land trained bodies to work with the oncoming walls of ocean. As we got into the water, Adam explained that surfing is mostly waiting and paddling to catch the waves, something that doesn't really register until you are an hour and a half into the lesson and your shoulders and neck are tight from paddling in and out of waves, and your inner thighs are tingling from gripping the board as you sat and looked for incoming swells. But, wow, when that timing and coordination mingle just enough to get up and you are carried in towards shore, the fleeting joy simply resonates. Floating on foamy water, other near by surfers cheer you on and your heart pumps what feels like thinner blood as you hover between a simultaneous meeting of rush and ease. The moment and momentum is a true symphony of effort and letting go, kind of like riding a bike with no hands while riding on water.
After I caught a few waves and lost my board a few times (the dang velcro on my leash wasn't holding up) I decided to watch the kids for a bit in the boat. Floating on the dinghy anchored in the channel and right next to the reef, I took in the vast and yet contained essence of the bay. The meeting of wind, water, depth and current presented this collision of blues that all had some sort of potential, and then eventually faded onto the shoreline. Observing the wave's peaks, dips, and seams where the wind changes, I felt both small and unguarded while also a part of a collaborative energy that can't help but lift me up, as long as I don't resist it and, literally, go with the flow- think equal parts surrendering to mustered courage. And forgive me for being cheesy, but I can't help but think of this as a metaphor for where I am in my life, as so many others have done before me.
Having arrived in the USVI two months ago and been on St. Thomas for one month, the reality of floating and observing is a daily activity. I get to wake up each morning and take in the ocean, the clouds, the light of a day in bare feet and salty skin (... I don't always shower when I get back from a beach swim). And there it is, a day of I don't know what vastness. The thoughts that circle my head of where to start, what to create, and how to engage are met with the daily "musts" of getting dressed, a workout, a dog walk, making meals and cleaning up. The simplicity and the opportunity can stop me in my tracks and cast a shadow, if I'm not careful. There is always the admissions person to follow up with, the camp to sign up for, the Christmas gift to order, the realtor I could call, the DMV appointment I should make... each item a task that is not onerous or difficult, but one that lacks luster and direction in helping me figure out how to secure some footing here and "start". So, I sit down at the outdoor table and write. I tease out the gnats of my tasking and try to be with my unsettled heart. I grow aware of the gratitude for living under the sunshine's abundance that touches heavy dread and self-doubt as I question my purpose and place on this journey (both the inner and the outer one). The "this, too, both... and" paradox where light meets dark and opposite currents make waves is the sticky spot where I catch myself. So, I gently remind myself that it takes observing the wind and the horizon, lots of diving and paddling around oncoming water, and then a good amount of sitting and waiting... to catch, and then ride, the next wave.
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