Wave After Wave After Wave

Heavy offshore wind on top of big, crunching surfing sends sparkling mist across the beach like glitter. Bay Area residents participate in coastal congregations, escaping the Peninsula heat and East Bay chill on the sand that’s somewhere in between. Lazy loungers and squealing children coexist reluctantly, but peacefully, on the sliver of earth between cliff and water. It’s a golden day, and the people are here for it. 

At this point, I’m wet, and drying. An hour or so of navigating the shifting lineup and dodging sets has left me deflated, but equally fulfilled. There is no shortage of waves as this beach break and the thin crowd was barely noticeable. The sun is too high for me to feel this surfed out. But I’ve got a book and a half eaten sandwich and now I’m basking like a dog. 

It feels so good to find these corners, these pockets of comfort– of certainty. It’s a welcomed surprise when the feeling that “this is right” come bubbling to the surface. Lately, I’ve been at a stalemate with myself. My ambitions and my reality are at such odds that I can’t help but sit and wonder what will have to change to set me free. Is it getting fired? Is it being forced to move? This trajectory that I’m on is neither forwards nor backwards. Instead, it’s just dragging me down. 

I’d say that clarity is hard to come by these days, but I don’t think it has ever been easy. Looking back, life has been the steady (and confused) navigation of an uncertain future, scrambling to pick up the pieces as I stumble awkwardly forward. But at every point along the way, there was some goal– some next step to work towards. Be it a varsity spot in sports or a final grade in a class, college or a first full time job, the next step was always obvious even if the actual destination was unclear. 

I have this sprawling, limitless life pouring out in front of me, bending on the horizon and circling the earth like the wind. Yet here I am, just a single point. A dot on a page. And I just don’t know where to go. Every direction, every step, is a cost benefit analysis between comfort and possibility. But this itch in my ribs lacks urgency. This is both comforting and horrifying at the same time. There is so much life ahead of me, so many opportunities to explore new thoughts, ideas, and passions. But I also started my first job at age 23 and now I’m approaching 25 and what do I have to show for it? Am I any more excited about this life? Have I grown? Have I challenged myself? 

It’s obvious that I’m being dramatic. But I want to be dramatic. I’m watching energy, transferred from thousands of miles away, released onto the beach in front of me. Over and over again. And I just want some sign, some set, set spitting left, to tell me “be patient, find time to do things that make you happy, prioritize your passions. You’re going to be okay.” But the tide is rising and the wind is tilting cross-shore and shit just looks sloppy. 

This isn’t to say that I’m feeling hopeless, because really, I’m not. I think, more than anything, that I just want to know if what I’m doing is right or wrong. I want to know that I’m not going to feel regret when I look back at my twenties. I want to know that I didn’t settle for convenience, but rather followed passion and excitement with diligence and hard work. I don’t want these years to drift by without intention. 

A quick chill brushes me behind the ears. The dipping sun has found a cloud to rest behind and a shadow is all it takes for me to begin packing my things. From atop the bluff I can see the swell– like ribs in the ocean–  march landward with a steady and unwavering pace. As one breaks, another appears near the horizon. Wave after wave after wave. Indifferentiable from one another until ultimately re-molded by the limitless coastal obstacles like a sandbar, or a long, exposed point.