Temper Tantrum at Sea
I had my first semi-breakdown in the water on Sunday. After a long afternoon the previous day at the Old Bar bowling club, betting on losing horses while my second choices (the ones I didn’t bet on)consistently crossed the finish line, I wasn’t feeling fantastic. I’d probably only lost six dollars, but it was the principle of the thing. That I’d nearly picked a winner and then decided against it at the last minute.
After tugging on my child sized wetsuit and hopping across rocks with the surfboard, I was already feeling frustrated. Frustrated at the wetsuit, frustrated that I didn’t know how to surf already, and frustrated at the bikini-clad girl in the water, catching wave after wave in the time it took me to navigate to the water.
I got on the board and forgot everything I’d learned so far. Feeling completely out of my element, I allowed each wave to toss me into the water, sending my board towards shore before being tugged back by my leg rope. My duck dives and attempts at paddling were hopeless, and I wanted to bash the surfers in the water out of sheer jealousy.
I know. Very, very childish.
So, I am utterly ashamed to say, I pulled out. Without even making it out to sea, I shook my head angrily at Jared, picked up the board, and hightailed it straight out of the water. Fuming, I rinsed off the board, rashie and wetsuit, then sat wrapped in a towel, watching the legitimate surfers as they made it look easy.
Watching is not the way to become a surfer, just as thinking about a novel is not the way to become a writer. All I can do is wait for the next attempt and make sure I see it through.