Summers coming to a close in sunny San Diego. Down at the coast, the sun sets over the blue horizon, baking the landscape in a thick layer of heat. Its harsh rays reflect off the ocean's water, casting a pink-ish trail of freckles across my wonderstruck face. With a deep inhale, I breathe in the smell of saltwater and surf wax, their scents merging to create a strangely familiar and nostalgic smell. I shift back and forth on my board, my head and chest facing up to the sky, mesmerized by the world of color before me. Pinks, purples, blues, and even reds dance in a tango of light, painting a postcard-worthy sunset. I let my legs hang limply off the side of my board, allowing the natural rhythm of the water to carry me.
Down at the shore, few people pass by, mostly just locals enjoying the sunset. Around this time of year, the beaches stay strangely deserted. I find the mid-summer crowds tend to fall off around late August, most get bored and ready to move onto something new. Personally, I prefer the beaches during the later months of summer. Once we've passed the inevitable June gloom and the water warms to a nice 70°, making for the perfect evening swim or surf session. I stare off to the shoreline for a second before my gaze trails up to the sky. I watch as a lone seagull flies overhead, so engrossed in the world before me, I almost miss my dad's cries of excitement as he paddles towards me.
“Turn around, turn around!” He cries, eager to catch my attention. I snap out of my daze, turning my head to watch as a steadily growing wave approaches me. Slowly, realization dawns on me as I splash about, desperately moving at a sloth-like pace to turn my board around. Every second counts as I get in position, going through my mental checklist of steps to catching the perfect wave.
Weight even, toes barely hanging off the back of the board as I start to paddle. I keep my eyes up, facing forward as I await that familiar pull. Don't look back, if there's one thing I've learned it's never look back. There's no reason to, all it leads to is an unnecessary sense of fear and what-ifs. Careful, don't let your guard down, I warn myself. Are you still paddling? Don't stop, even when you feel the wave catch you, it's the only way you'll get the proper momentum to go anywhere. Now, I take one last deep breath as I feel the wave come on. Keeping my weight forward, I paddle hard, enjoying the last few moments of silence before I stand and the wave crashes into a storm of whitewash. I float for just a moment until I feel the inevitable pull as the wave sucks me into its fury. Without a second to spare I pop a leg up, steadily rising as I hover above the water. With a sudden drop, the wave crashes below me, pulling me with it as I ride it to shore. Shouts of excitement and laughter ring out behind me, my dad cheering me on as I go. A loud, enthusiastic laugh escapes my mouth, echoing over the rawr of the crashing waves.
Recently, I've found myself repeating this memory time after time in my head. Ever since I was young my dad has been taking me and my sister down to the beach to go surfing with him. That memory in specific I remember so vividly, the sweet late summer air, the calls of encouragement as I rode that last wave to shore. In these times of uncertainty and doubt, I find myself clinging onto this memory for support. It acts as a reminder to keep my head up, to keep paddling because no wave is too big, especially if you know how to take things one step at a time.