The highway to Chad’s is straight and long. It’s nighttime. My head still hurts and I’m uncomfortable alone. Since the concussion, I feel lost without the context of another person. I don’t trust my thoughts. Everything is confusing.
Beside the highway, I see a train stopped. The tiny windows glow golden, illuminating the shiny metal surface of the train car. There are little faces inside. It fades out of my line of sight as if in slow motion and I start to cry. I can’t explain it. But I’m sobbing as if everyone I love is on that train as it drifts into the distance behind me. I have forty minutes to go.
I arrive safely with the feeling that I’ve been delivered via auto-pilot. Chad meets me in the parking lot and carries my surfboard inside. It’s warm and it smells nice in his condo. I feel safe again. The forecast for tomorrow looks good.
“You don’t look good. You look kinda pale.” he says.
I wake up in the morning to Chad hovering over me, nudging me gently. He’s dressed and ready. It’s time to go. The bed is so warm that it makes the thought of jumping into a cold ocean seem that much more impossible. It feels as though my heart has been relocated to my forehead, it beats there, torturing me. I extract myself from the warmth of the bed to get dressed. It’s hard, though. I am not stoked. I am not even awake.
Chad packs and loads the car. I fold myself into the passenger seat. The ride to the break is long and foreign to me. I drink a latte and listen to lyrics as though they were a soundtrack composed just for me in this moment. Everything is surreal. But when I open the car door at the beach, the crisp air and the roar of the sea rush in and flip a switch in my brain. I am awake. I’m ready for this.
I’m comforted by the ritual of changing into my wetsuit and waxing my board. Chad has never surfed in the Winter. The routine is novel to him. This comforts me, too, for some reason.
We emerge from the lot onto the beach. Everything is shades of gray, it’s as if we’ve been photoshopped in. There is practically no one out. It looks good, too. The water isn’t as cold or uncomfortable as I dreamed it from bed. It never is. It feels good. There is nothing to be confused about out here. The waves approach like friendly animals rising up out of the deep, beckoning me to charge. Chad stays close. I like the way he looks there next to me. I want him to catch a wave almost as badly as I want one myself— almost. While we’re out, I feel strong. I feel like myself.
Right now, I do not feel like myself. My head hurts and nothing seems right. I want to go back.
But that’s the thing, though, isn’t it? You can never go back. Only forward. Conditions always change. You can’t hold on to yesterday or bank on tomorrow’s forecast. You have to accept what is happening right now and have the courage to confront it in whatever way is necessary—Even if it’s a huge pain in the ass (or head, as the case may be). Sometimes, I’m learning, confronting it means not doing anything (which can be the hardest action of all).
*SIGH* patience, silence, observation; skills I had to learn.
like the weather & the sea, life is ever-changing. adapt, carry-on, BE
“You have to accept what is happening right now and have the courage to confront it in whatever way is necessary… Sometimes, I’m learning, confronting it means not doing anything (which can be the hardest action of all).”
Speechless on the timing of these words. Same thought has been presented to me several ways in the last couple days, I get the message. Thank you!
Praying for your quick healing!
hey, if that dude drops the ball my condo smells nice too.
A little gushy for me. But you seem like a strong person. Mentally and physically. And i admite that
I look forward to reading about your future trails, but I’m interested to hear about the past which created such an intriguing person.
“Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind. “
Hardcore-Applause to you for even going surfing so soon after the door-encounter ordeal. Otherwise…wise last paragraph words. Walk slower, see quicker.
In my experience all actions stem from our present state of mind, so doing nothing, until your state of mind alters, seems a great way to produce new results. I like the way you think!
Great read, but not as great as you look. Hope to see you out on the water.
Thanks, Nate! If you see me, please say hi.
welcome to my world… I feel out of body all the time… Between us you will never be alone as long as you know you are always in my Heart… I am like ur ArkAngel people never know till it is too late!!! See you soon, Big Mr T…
Just catching up…. Here in the Islands the Snowbirds are here in great numbers, and everything seems speeded up. I hadn’t come here to read for a while, and am sorry to hear of the big bang, but I am happy to experience your writing about both “ups” and “downs”. Thanks for sharing…
Great story, enjoyed it with my coffee! You’re a fantastic writer. H,ope to read more. Capt Greg.