Writing Under Fay's Shadow

Nothing is more conducive to writing than bad weather. It keeps you inside and provides atmosphere and energy. So this morning is awesome for writing, not so much for surfing. Tropical Storm Fay is sitting stationary just overhead. Its relentless onshore winds are churning the ocean into some meaty swell but nothing all that surfable. As the 40 MPH winds and heavy rains swirl just outside my window, I came across an old piece about surf style:

"A surfer lives his/her life like the waves themselves. Although battered by cross-winds and cross-chop and bent by reefs and sandbars, they always stay true to their source and direction. And a surfer, no matter how heavy the responsibilities of life may become, will always make it to the beach. This experience goes far beyond simply the thrill of a good ride. The sun rising over the ocean, a good wipeout, the view of a perfect unridden wave, or even a joke made among friends in between sets all serve as food for the surfer's soul."

A pretty ridiculous surfing as life metaphor? I won't deny that, but it also sheds light on the surfing spirit and brings to my mind the strange reality that I have met non-surfers with a surfing spirit. Ya know, folks who were not fortunate enough to be birthed near Mother Ocean, but nonetheless exude gobs of obvious surf spirit. It's not something you have to describe; it's something you just know. Surf style isn't just the way you ride a wave but also the way you ride through life: the lines you choose and the way you respond to the falling lips and jagged reef of a day in your life. Do you straighten out or pull in and drive that shack? If you are reading this and you have never caught a wave in your life, it doesn't mean you can't plug into a piece of the surf spirit.

The spirit comes out from your pencil as you write and is present in that connection between you and your child and there is no doubt it is in Fay's wind as it lashes against my window. It's love and nature and religion all ground together, stuffed into a tea bag and steeped in the ocean of your soul.

Bring it on Fay. I want to keep on writing.