Santa Barbara’s southern orientation and point breaks offer a surfing delight: no current.
Currents were a part of the game in Orange County. I’d paddle out close to where the wave broke, bookmark my place on the horizon with two landscape beacons, and fight the current treadmill back to my spot for the hour-long session. It was my willing price paid for waves in the OC, because the choice was simple: deal with it or don’t surf.
The current of my life outside the ocean was a different force.
I used to yawn all… the… time. I needed a perpetual nap. I hated getting up early. One missed night of sleep threw my existence into disorder. The current was strong.
For most of med school and residency, my life was tinted with a begrudging tone. Just to be okay every day, to fight that current of medicine and get back to my spot, it required relentless battling. At first surmountable, I could refill the tank on the mountain bike trail or a weekend of camping, but as the stake got higher and higher, I couldn’t paddle anymore and got pushed where it cared take me. If you’re looking for a recipe for depression or a mid-life crisis, look no further.
My life became a relentless paddle, and it didn’t stop when I left work. This is fractured living.
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In my first newsletter, I wrote about the day where the current ceased. My wife and I were attending a wedding which required a cross-country flight at 5AM to New Orleans. In the past, I would have made it through but begrudgingly. Not because I didn’t want to be at the wedding. Not because of lack of excitement at exploring a new place with my wife, no. Because I had nothing left in the tank from all-day current fighting, all the time. The trip would threaten survival as I’d known it for eight years. Would my reserve be able to handle the energy draw?
Here on this trip—one month after I’d quit my job—I was just tired and loved it all. I had an extra coffee, an extra beignet, and we celebrated a beautiful wedding weekend.
The greatest gift of the last few months has been the return of my life. Hugs are deeper. Conversations are richer. Moments more meaningful. Because I love what I’m doing (this whole figuring out process), it gives me energy back, which I can pour into my life. I’m not worried about draining the reserves. I’m yawning less.
Surfing’s hard enough without a current. Missed waves. Cold water. Stingrays afoot. Yet, it’s all worth it for the waves; the bottom turn, first cross step, and the peace looking down the line. When a current appears, you make do, but I’m done adding my own. I’ll be riding as many clean Santa Barbara delights as I can, cherishing looks down the line.
