When I was a kid I always used to come home with some fresh scrape or cut after riding my bike or playing in the woods until sundown. A nice shower, a good home-cooked meal, and one good night's sleep later and the injury became a battle wound that I was proud of and that I could tell the story of how it happened for ages to come.
Then I calmed down in life and became more careful...I guess it's a sign of maturing, but I almost forgot what it felt like to get scraped up when I was out exploring and adventuring. It probably also meant that I began to stop pushing my limits...I began to take the safest way out of every situation and found a comfort zone that I was eager to stay within.
This past week in the surf at Fripp island has produced many a scrape, bruise, muscle pull, and general body thrashing of the funnest kind. I walk out of the water each day watching myself bleed from a new spot because the rough edges of the rental board catches my foot as I pop up on a wave. I even got snagged by a jellyfish today on my left forearm. I have to say that the pain feels good. I feel like I earned each ride today and that, at the end of the day, each bump and bruise was a medal of happiness that will remind me tonight of how I caught myself living again today.
1 comment:
My R (ennaisance) man. Surf, rhymes with turf, of which surf only touches briefly before receeding out of. Float and flow.
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