My surfboard is far more than just a surfboard. It’s a vessel, a work of art, a symbol of my life, a wave catching machine, and where I keep my soul. Floating in the water at Knob Hill today with Mike Purpus and Ted Lytle, I looked up at the blue sky with strains of wispy clouds, then down at the blue ocean, then at my beautiful blue board in front of me, nearly catching a glimpse of my reflection in the film of water slipping over the wax. The seagulls airbrushed up the nose, matching the tattoos on my shoulder, and the sun on the bottom that resembles the work on my forearm both give the board life, and freedom transcends. The sun points me to the ocean, and the birds keep me weightless and searching — for perfect waves, new experiences and adventures, and new faces to learn from and about — and the simple airbrushed gulls remind me to never worry about what’s below, and to keep moving forward, eyes ahead.
Catching the extra-fun high tide waves today, I zipped down the line, the seagulls making a stepping path to the nose, bringing me to the closest feeling of flying that I’ll ever get. In between waves, Mike Purpus was telling tales of some of his surf injuries that were so funny I nearly cried, while simultaneously pelicans flew in their synchronized flocks what seemed like inches away from us, blessing us with good waves. We tried our best to mimic them, gliding in our own way with the help of our boards as we carved back and forth in the breakers.
My board and I paddled into a few more sets that had me giddy; there was a feeling of perfect harmony between me and big blue today, and we moved together as one, feet and fiberglass melting together with each passing wave.
I said my goodbyes and walked up the stairs, board propped on my head, heavy and weightless all at the same time.
