“Introspective Ramble #1”
That's just what the Internet needs--more people talking about
themselves. Even as I plop into my fold-up camp chair to journal a blog entry,
I'm hesitant. Let's face it. At the end of the day, nobody's that interesting. Even the fun,
adventurous things in life have to be dressed up a bit for
public consumption. So I have to remind myself that I'm really not doing
this for anyone else. I'm writing because it exercises my creativity, and creativity is a universal currency. Of course, you are reading it and
that's wonderful. I hope that somehow it makes your day, or hour or minute a
little better; but for me it’s that same old thing that artists have to
continually reconcile with—we make art because we are people who are compelled
to make art. I think I can say that and still maintain that there are objective
criteria with which to measure the quality
of art, but that is a big, messy discussion and I don't want to go there
right now. What I do know for a fact is that when I am intentional about
exercising the discipline of creativity in a variety of venues, I see an
increase in my creative productivity in all facets of my life. It’s an
investment. I wish I could explain why this works. Diversifying my creative
investments yields dividends. Somehow, woodcarving, sculpting clay, taking
photos or writing prose helps me to write better songs, solve problems at work
and think up new ideas. Creativity is a transferable and renewable resource.
Ok. I’ve worked through it again. This has value. I can move on.
“Introspective Ramble #2”
It's
nice to be in my thirties. Well, I guess it's not so terrific when I'm watching
the Olympics and that Costas guy refers to any athlete over 25 with the same
patronizing tone people use to discuss nursing home residents and the
mentally disabled. It's also not great to be at a point where I really have to
take notions like "saving for the future" seriously. What I like best
about my thirties is that I'm not nearly as cool as I used to be. That comes
with a lot of advantages. Mostly, I just have a lot more fun because I don't
care so much if others get a good laugh at my expense. For example, I was
playing tennis this morning--something I took up last year--and at one point
accidentally whacked a backhand about 50 feet straight up in the air. So high,
in fact, and so straight up that I lost sight of the ball until it nearly hit
me in the head a few seconds later. At that point, a covey of adolescent quail
loitering outside the fence began laughing at me in their snarky little tones.
Ten years ago that would have really bothered me. I would have probably smashed
my tennis racket. As it is now, I merely had to pick a few feathers out of the
racket-strings.
“Smile and Wave”
I'm
happy to report that I have advanced past the sports of "surfboard
paddling" and "surfboard sitting" to real actual,
honest-to-goodness surfing. I have caught—and ridden standing up—on enough
waves now to feel that I can honestly call what I’m doing “surfing.” I like that.
I would rather say “I was out surfing this morning” than mumble “I got my
surfboard out this morning,” cough and change the subject. Happily, the vast
majority of folks I have met out in the bay have been friendly and even
helpful—offering tips and encouragement. The first time I ever got up on a
wave, one especially intense surfer encouraged me to get the heck out of his
way by tipping me over with a rather violent shove, but that was the only
negative run-in I’ve had so far. Various aggressive confrontations are common
around some of the most coveted surfing hot-spots, but oddly, my incident
occurred on a wave considered by locals to be the “bunny hill” of area surf
destinations. A number of witnesses offered me comfort in the form of
sympathetic head nods and reassuring repartee. “What just happened?!” “That was
uncalled for!” “Seriously?!” “Dude.” Their gestures of support were endearing
but unnecessary, as I was barely even crying.
"An Encounter"
Last Monday morning I suited
up and hit the water before work. There is something eerie about paddling out
into the ocean on a two-inch-thick foam and polyurethane board. It was quiet
and although there were other surfers already at the spot I was heading to, I
was alone for the time being. I stopped for a moment to rest my arms. As I
glided to a stop in the gentle swells, I suddenly heard an exhalation of air immediately
behind me. I turned my head to see a young seal not four feet from the end of
my surfboard, head out of the water, staring at me with those big dark eyes. I stared
back. A moment later, the agile creature ducked under the surface, then popped
up just to my right—again, only about four feet away. It followed me for a bit
when I started moving again, but then decided that we probably wouldn’t be
friends after all and disappeared. Too bad. I had already picked out a name and everything.
