Tuesday, June 10, 2003


It didn't take me long, after getting back to San Diego, to feel the pull towards the ocean, like a gasping fish. La Jolla, and Windansea beach in particular, still feels more like home to me than anywhere on the planet. I spent eight happy years here, and at one point considered, well, just staying. Even though it's not as pretty as Maui, there is something great about how civilization, houses, restaurants, shops, and people, extend down to the cliffs at the edge of the water and then abruptly stop and give way to what is essentially wilderness -- kelp, sea lions, fish, waves. When the surf is really big and there are only a handful of guys out surfing, it's odd to look ashore, maybe a hundred or two yards over roiling turbulence, to the placid and comfortable shoreline, so far experientially removed.

And even when the waves aren't so big, surfing just feels good. Getting out of the water after a few hours, walking up to the local mexican hole in the wall and getting a fish burrito, lounging about afterwards, watching the surf and digesting. It's just really good -- I feel all fuzzy and, well, happy. I thought snowboarding was just as good, but it's not. The feeling's not the same. The rush when you're making turns is similar, but the feeling afterwards -- I feel kind of beaten up after snowboarding all day, not the warm peaceful buzz I get after surfing. So, I guess that's it for me. I can spend a few months away from the water if I have to. Or I can spend a season here and there snowboarding. But, really, I'm always going to be addicted to the ocean, forever.

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