It's the night before the paddle and I can't lie, I am nervous. Normally I sleep quite well, especially these days as surf lessons and surf sessions come in bounty and energy leaves just the same. It's not without irony that I see how the one night I really do need a good night sleep, I can't seem to give it to myself. Life is that way, no?
Honestly though, my mind turns mostly to our Color the Water surfers. I imagine that many of them feel this way the day before they come. I see them walk up to my place, slow small steps so as not to tread to recklessly or too far into the idea of surfing, this thing they've understood as not for them for however long they've known it. Though always with masks, I see their energy change when we welcome them, when they or we say hopefully and affirmatively as both a question and an imperative, "Color the Water?" I see it when they try hard to find privacy in an open space as they manage putting on the wetsuit... and the relief that comes with seeing others going through the same struggle but also someone there just to explain it in ways they would understand, without any judgement. "Just put in on like you would leggings, you know? Work your way up," Liz says. I always try to leave the area during that time so as not to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I catch glimpses of their eyes and body language though, almost as if wondering if there is still time to turn back, if there is still a chance to curl into a more comfortable space where as adults they don't have to question if they really belong and if they really should be doing this thing. I imagine I will feel this tomorrow with all my gear I've adorned with logos and words that mean so much to me, in hopes of doing this thing I've never quite done.
Nick Gabaldon. A mystery of a man. I've seen videos and heard lectures about him over the past couple days, but there isn't much from the man himself... who died trying to surf through the columns of the Malibu Pier at the age of 24. I wonder what he would think about all this now. I wonder if his story was vanillafied in that Nike piece to make it seem like it was all about surfing and skill superseded skin color. I wonder if he encountered any of the "surf nazis" of Malibu, and if that was the same era or after. It's hard to know any of these things, but I do know this. Nick paddled 12 miles north to Malibu, surfed, then paddled back to the beach segregationists called the Inkwell, to denote the skin tone of the Black beachgoers there. So tomorrow, although I don't think I am going to paddle back, I am going to try and take the journey north, to surf with my Color the Water friends and family, who will be there waiting for me. I hope I can meet them after having made them proud. I hope, like them, I don't retreat back into comfort, but all the way through. I tell our surfers that there are three goals to try for in their first lesson. One is just to get out there. Two is to catch a wave. Three is to stand up and ride. They meet this challenge with such bravery and joy... I admire them so. Tomorrow, it's my turn.
