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.

The Pendulum Swings...

LCrow, putting some resin on a surfboard by CChristenson for MHealy. Pic via MMiller.
 

Remember Edgar Allen Poe? The Pit and the...?
A meticulous metaphor crafted to incite horror. And it did. And it does.

I was chatting at the beach with Sin Diego fixture and single fin maestro LCrow. "It's been a good winter, eh?" "Yep, but I've just been dragging a bit. You know, just have to get motivated to get out there." I shrug and skip to the sand's edge, grinning a Cheshire's large. LCrow becomes a spectator. Days pass, as they do, and I see LCrow at The Drive Through for an early morning dip. Meager lines bob and warble along the sandbar. I eye my boards, beauties each, and kind of mumble to myself about cold and stiff and stinky wetsuit and time's a-tickin'. LCrow looks over at me, "Let's get out there." In minutes we are in the lineup. The cold seeps through my stinky wetsuit as time clicks along. But I am smiling. Not mumbling, smiling. The pendulum swings.

Each day a pass of the pendulum, razor sharp, comes closer. Each day we swing like the pendulum. We breathe life into the tiniest moments, then fritter away the grandest. We enfold our thoughts in minutia, then are able to draw intelligent visions upon the future. We dictate and then contradict. We are in constant danger of the pendulum's death blow. We are the pendulum.

The surfing life gives a weight to the pendulum's swing. We have a central gravity that draws us center. Regardless of the wild gyrations surrounding our unsalty-selves we always come to a rest at center. Thank God for the center.

Awaken early...

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?

On wings...

Above: Andrew Kidman via F&F

September a whirl. Tasks, smiles, files of information all leading to summative success. The small faces pass by. Hundreds now. The small interactions, thousands, pass by. Yet as they pass they leave a trace of themselves. Wisps of personality; struggle and joyful accomplishment. I do not suffer from "alienation of labor."

However, I've surfed about ten times in the last two months.

Thankfully images of waves and boards, smiling surfers and the pendulum of the tides stay traced on my psyche. Tomorrow, the waves. Tomorrow, not a respite from work, but a companion piece to my working life.