What would you do if you had two months off...

Compassing Teaser from Cyrus Sutton on Vimeo.


The initial premise of what appears to be another grounded, earthy, accessible film from surfing's new-media frontman is compelling. What if we could all take a walkabout for a month or two? What if we could devote preparation time and money towards a surf trip that would meet our Santosha dreams? What if a freedom were granted and we grasped it with both hands, pulling ourselves out of the drudgery of daily life?

But the question emerges from an assumption to the negative. Yes, workaday life can be laborious. Yes, the constant wrestling with scheduling, parenting, husbanding, producing, consuming and pragmatic necessity makes it difficult to feel that salty-sweet aura of the unencumbered surf session. We grab our moments, though, do we not?

I propose a different perspective, one in which surfing plays the complimentary role in life rather than the true north of all experience. Can I be a competent and devoted family man, friend, teacher, and surfer? Yes. In those times when surfing becomes secondary I have learned to use my inner knowledge that the next session will always await as a motivator. Do good work in all things and enjoy those moments outside of surfing as a way of balancing life.

Of course I have wished for the weeks long journey to point break perfection. Yes, I miss traveling to Baja with the regularity and freedom that I once claimed. But times come for those trips. They need not be always the sweet that makes everything else sour. Perspective and balance my friends.

If you were wondering, if I had two months off with no responsibilities tying me here or there, I would probably go surf San Jacinto on a great swell and then trip around Europe. Never been there. I'd surf when I returned home.

Boogie Bay...

Higher tide and a little swell makes for lefts for yards at Boogie Bay.

A mile north of my house there is a lagoon. The lagoon winds and wraps past the fairgrounds and racetrack as it runs west and into the pacific. Here, volleyball courts and dogs (duds too). There, crushingly disproportionate wealth in the form of oceanfront homes, buttressed by boulders against tides and swells.

A spare hour or two and some no-thanks winds lends itself to a bit of boy time. G and I hop in the car and take a ride to Boogie Bay. Now, boogie bay is not an amazing surf spot. It is not even a surf spot for anyone over seventy-five pounds. But if you are seven and you like to ride your boogie board, then man, you have found your surfy heaven right there at Boogie Bay.

At high tides a little left, maybe two feet on the biggest of days, wraps around the rocky armor below the mansions. little G-Land, Uluwatu. A left point for the groms. Grant walks out, turns and grabs a little slider. Twenty yards of grins from take off to sand. Me, I just smile and enjoy the life of a dad, a dad who surfs, a dad who surfs with his son.

G isn't much interested in surfboards or standup surfing right now. And I dig that. Because what he is really interested in is waves. Waves of perfect size for a seven-year-old, wrapping and reeling into Boogie Bay.

New Blood...

5'9" Steve Lis Quad Fish. Just wet for the first time.

Seventy-five degrees. Yes, the water and air both.

Hop on the bike and put the board on the rack. Forget the leash, it's a beachy. Wax in the pocket and slaps on the feet. Pedal and glide down Stratford, sliding under a low-hanging branch in anticipation of a head-dip, a cover-up, a micro-tube.

A manicured doormat of grass that sits in front of the sand, framed by city landmark and children's playground on either side. Take the bike onto the sand, tuck it into an eroded sea-cave and grab the board.

A few recognizable faces greet me on the sand, in the surf. A few familiar feelings return to me after a rather lengthy land-locked period. That first duck-dive. Ooh, that first moment of slippery speed. Welcome.

The new digs, a haunt in coastal affluence, has an ocean view and a few trails to the reefs. A bike takes me to the beachbreaks, not too bad on their day. It is refreshing to sense the sea so nearby again. Each morning for the past many I have sen the coastal airshow; fog  and a delta of pelicans soaring just over the bluff.

Tools of the trad(ition)...

Me: Professional Flotsamist

Chemistry Set...

Ding repair:
Teach yourself to do it.

Teach your son to do it.

He can be better than you.

Detritus...

The Post-millennial Grommets breathe new life. Pic: BA-->

Awake. Produce. Repeat.

Each day finds an odd haze hanging over it. The weight of expectation, exertion, evaluation becomes a rote path. One moment is left behind as the next is anticipated. So rarely is a moment let to ring until its simple song is spent. Episodes pile up like driftwood, memories of living things worn smooth and innocuous by powers greater-than. Flotsam reaches the shore. Sea-scraps accumulate.

Then someone walking along the beach picks up the discarded and forgotten bits. Fashioned by an inspired mind, the memories and moments take on new life and meaning. The visionary act of reinvention and re-invigoration breathes new life.

Scale for personal use. Apply as necessary. Work, play, family, expression, success, all need a bit of re-invigoration when the time i'swell.

Speak, Memory...

Image Heist from Ryan Field Photography (Kllr Px)

1995. The Jewel,CA.

My daily fun was headfirst, with an eye for an almond-exit. Lounge, VJourneys, GoodLuck Reef, and Retirement Heaven were my favorite haunts. Sea grass on the knees and finless tunnel hunting was the norm.

Low tide Little Left, adjacent to Hydrodynamic Innovator Reef. I'm done with my fun but see a nice right over yonder. I kick my boogie over to the racy little reef and meet a nice barrel as a welcome gift. Then the fun really begins.

I paddle back out and am greeted by two JewelBox Locals. Apparently I am at a place I shouldn't be. Apparently this spot is Kalifornia Kapu. I inquire a bit and am taught about the eponymous reef's history. In a none-so-friendly manner I am asked to leave. I believe the exact words were, "You're going to get a surfboard up your..."

Of course I stayed for one more wave. Of course I did.

I'm so thankful to my boogie years. The time spent in the heart of the beasts taught me a love for the ocean more intimate than breathing. As soon as you stand on your feet there is a separation, a loss.

I'm 90% standup today, but I enjoy the other 10% immensely.

Let it be...

Enjoying my new Lis. Many more of these little pocket rides this year...I hope. Oh, and maybe I can learn to bend my knees. Pic via BA

I love resolutions but hate New Year's Eve.

1. Create more/Consume less. A holdover from last year. I was pretty successful with this goal. This goal is empowering in its overarching breadth. In every moment to ask what can be created rather than consumed is a perspective altering behavior. Think broadly on this one, not simply book>TV.

2. Be present. I feel the pull of competing concerns almost constantly. Particularly troubling are the ubiquitous screens which offer a two dimensional mirage of a three dimensional world. I am here and with those around me. I am in this ocean, on this wave, on these feet, in this turn, in this tube, in this water.

3. Develop a sense of complete health- Physical and beyond. This resolution grows from a couple of conversations with interesting peripheral characters in my life partnered with the exhortation (and warning) offered through the story of Dorian Paskowitz and his family.

And, of course, Surf More!

Best wishes to all for Two Thousand and Ten.

Peter Pan-ic...

GG (April, 2006), someday you'll think these same thoughts:

Today, a glorious Sin Diego fall day, I walked up Cowles Mountain (hill) with my three-year-old son. I didn't surf and haven't surfed in the last week, despite the swell. My wife is pregnant and quite ill. I've been on daddy and domestic duty. Delightful and delightful.

Sometime about half way through our walk I surveyed east San Diego and the near suburb of La Mesa, I saw the lake that I run around, pushing a stroller or laboring through predawn miles so I don't miss out on family or surf time later in the day/week. I saw the highways, everywhere highways, that I travel daily for sixty miles. I saw the little canyon that leads to my house from the lake. I saw the hazy western horizon and knew the sea, and decent surf, lay beyond, me missing it. I reflected on my current life. 31 years old, 8 years building a beautiful family with my wife, 9 years in a career I love. I do things I like all the time. I surf, I get outdoors, I create.

Then came the panic. In the midst of my comfortable, rewarding, suburban, middle-class, generally very happy life came a moment of Peter Panic. Is there enough time in this life to do all the things I dream? Do I have the courage to step off the well worn path at opportune times in order to expand my vision? What sacrifices must be made to stretch beyond the routine, regardless of how comfortable that routine may be, in order to encounter new and enriching experiences? How much time do I have on this earth? How is that time best spent?

My Father is a man of exceeding spiritual faith. I find this endearing and vexing. I wish the easy answers of faith came to me without drag-out battles of the mind that leave me with only meager satisfaction. Then I might be able to answer those most weighty of questions.

For now, in this moment, I will rest in the beauty of my life and try to follow the wise, petulant advise of Peter Pan, "Think of a wonderful thing, it's the same as having wings!" Then I can fly. But to where? And for to what end?