I Feel Good, I Feel Great, I Feel Wonderful
By Abbey Leroux
There is one damn good reason that I don’t mind that my face today looks as speckled as the egg Lindsey Lohan hatched from. It is because I spent the weekend fulfilling a dream; a cleverly devised dream that allows itself room to stretch and grow and evolve. It is because I spent this weekend learning to surf.
I’ve always wanted to try surfing though I don’t know quite why I put it off until now. Along with the great excuse to spend hours playing in the ocean (that’s where the speckling/freckling comes in—sun + water = -sunscreen), I also secretly intuited that I would be good at it. Come to think of it, maybe I put it off because I didn’t want to prove myself wrong. Anyway, none of it mattered of course. Better than a fish in water, when I donned that wetsuit and hauled that unwieldy longboard out into the surf I felt like a seal in water. Fish don’t seem to have much fun, idly floating around in there, opening and closing their blank little lips which are incapable of even the faintest Mona Lisa of a smile. Seals, on the other hand… seals and surfers, there’s a parallel worth drawing. Rubbery, slippery, hanging around in little groups with dark shiny coats peppering the faces of waves, splashing around without a care for the exceptionally cold sea water… yes. I felt like a seal, albeit with a board instead of a tail. Just don’t tell the sharks.
From what I hope or at least wish, everyone is familiar with the scene from “What About Bob?” when Bill Murray’s completely clingy and endearingly neurotic character (very good, yes, Bob) is invited for a day of care-free sailing with some teenagers on Lake Winnipesaukee (uh-huh, I had to look up how to spell that). The only obstacle for Bob is that he is terrified of water and boats. He can barely set foot on a dock without breaking into a cold sweat and fretting wildly. I can’t identify much with that. However, after some coaxing and baby-stepping, we cut to the highly memorable and inspiring image of Bob in a bright orange life-vest secured tightly to the mast of the boat with lengths of rope, joyfully and unselfconsciously exclaiming “I’m SAILING!!! I SAIL!! I’m a sailor! Ahoy!” Oh, Bob. I love Bob.
Anyway, after I caught wave after wave, popped up, rode into shore, trudged and splashed and took nosefuls and bellyfuls of ocean in the whitewater to get back out for another ride, my delectable surf dude instructor high-fived me. I shimmied back onto my board. “Hey,” he said just before we ducked under a breaking wave. Up we came. “You’re surfing!” What I can identify with is that, Bob. Joyfully, unselfconsciously, and after such a long time of hoping, imagining, admiring, dreaming. I was surfing. I’m a surfer. I SURF!