Balance
I could have spent our whole California vacation watching surfers. Their sport is as mesmerizing as the ocean, as wild and unpredictable as the waves, as precarious and exhilarating as a baby’s first steps.
For someone like me, who finds remaining upright a challenge and standing on a balance beam an impossibility, their sense of balance boggles the mind. How can their feet cling to the board? How can their bodies, clad in slick and glistening wet suits, react with such grace to the nuances and pummeling of wind and wave?
The more I watched the surfers, the more evident it became that a successful ride is the exception rather than the rule. The surfers spent most of their time lying on their boards, paddling in the ocean, waiting for the waves. When a good ones came along, their attempts to gain the wave usually failed, and cold water engulfed them. Seconds later, they emerged from the foam, climbed on their boards, and waited for another wave.
Though the surfers intrigue me, their sport is not calling my name. The water’s too cold, the waves are too wild, and the mental picture of my middle-aged body glistening in a wet suit is absurd. But every morning when it’s time to plan the day, I see myself carrying a board toward the ocean, dipping in my toe to test the water. Slowly I climb on my board and paddle toward the waves. Every day is a struggle as waves of phone calls and emails, writing and projects threaten to engulf me.
When I fail, my only option is to try and mount the board again. Because, on the few occasions when I find my balance, the sensation is exhilarating and the world is lovely from my rare vantage point. So I try again and again and again because balance is a gift not to be received, but to pursue.
