Waking up knowing I am going to surf, a feeling overcomes my body-- in my gut. I feel a slight sinking feeling, not the kind of feeling like when you find out someone has betrayed you, or that something bad has just happened, but that feeling of fear and anticipation that you are about to do something that simultaneously scares you, thrills you, and brings you to your happy place, whatever, wherever that may be. Well for me its the ocean. I am most scared of it because I see in it characteristics that I most admire about myself as well as what most terrifies me. 

The ocean is deep. Seemingly it looks simple, peaceful at times,  the color blue--but what is really going on in there? You look at the ocean and at first glance you almost imagine that you know everything, that you have this complete and accurate idea of what lies within it. Its power is unlike any other. It is not hard like a rock, it cannot be overtly felt, if you grip it too hard it slides right between your fingers. The ocean's power is subtle, it sneaks up on you. You observe its peace and just as you turn your head for a second you feel its power as you are pummeled by a set of waves crushing you beneath its surface, holding you under. It teaches you humility. 

The ocean cannot simply be seen with the naked eye but to experience its true depth it must be felt. The temperature and texture of the water against your skin, its immense and seemingly  never-ending nature, its ability to make you feel miniature while simultaneously complete as your immersion in its depth makes you feel a part of its beautiful complexity.

For me--surfing is difficult at times-- and feels seamless and euphoric at others. The mentality begins when I wake, and I know I am going to surf. You check the surf reports, load your boards on the car, arrive at the beach, then you look-- with your eyes. You see the waves, how they are forming, where they are breaking, their size--you watch their behavior--they are alive. You  marvel at the thought of joining with this living process of nature and honor and respect the ability to even be able to do so.   

The ocean like us is constantly changing, fluid, moving, but then it is still. It teaches us to listen--this lesson comes quickly. To me you are a surfer if in your heart you honor the beautiful body of water that holds you--supports you in a way that is unlike the hard earth's surface. You listen with humility and your goal is not to conquer, but to share. You respect its power to carry you across a gliding wave as well as its ability to suffocate you when you do not flow with its energy, when you do not listen.

It is this process of listening, attention, and awareness that allows us to appreciate the beauty of being alive. It doesn't have to be surfing, for me the ocean has shown me presence of my own body, my being within nature, and how to become in sync with the energies of the universe. It has shown me humility, that the only thing I have power over is myself and how I choose to synthesize my energy with that which is around me. It has shown me that sailing is not always smooth, that sometimes things are discordant but just the same it is just as beautiful to have your attention meet there in that difficult place-- to face it. To look the wave in the eye just as it is about to crush you-- and to breathe. 

This is the beauty of being alive. To listen with your body, mind, and spirit. If we are not present, if we are not listening, if we are thinking about the next step we do not enjoy our journey, we are not present within our lives, we are not happy. Happiness lies in our ability to enjoy the moment we are in. Life is not about getting to the top, it is not about riding the wave, it is about showing up, every day-- with every ounce of your being, and to surrender your being into each moment. 

"To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision. Few, if any, survive their teens. Most surrender to the vague but murderous pressure of adult conformity. It becomes easier to die and avoid conflict than to maintain a constant battle with the superior forces of maturity." 
— Maya Angelou

This quote hit really close to home. I feel as though I am walking that tightrope, or for those that know me we could refer to it as a slack line. We are all walking that line. As time goes by I see more and more of my Facebook feed being filled with weddings, babies, new homes, dogs, and a whole lot more Donald Trump than I would like. 

 Within my own form of silent rebellion, I could not follow society on this path. Mediocrity and conformity are just not in my vocabulary. Do I mean to say that anyone who gets married and has kids is a conformist? Hell no, if they are true to themselves and that is the path that aligns with their heart, by all means keep walking. Am I to say that is something I will never want? Also no, but I have my own timeline. My own path that I am certain is the scenic route, it's the usual route I take (I'm terrible with directions.) When we should question our decisions are when our gut, heart, and our minds are not in sync. If we are getting married because we are afraid of being alone, for financial security, or against our better judgement, its wrong. Are we settling for a job that is less than we deserve, that has nothing to do with our passions? Its wrong. Do we need to do this sometimes as a stepping stone on the way to our dream? Yes. The important thing is to never lose sight of what makes your heart sing, never be complacent, never settle for less. Head passionately in the direction of your dreams and make steps towards it--everyday. 

Promises I can make to myself and to those who walk with me at any point along my path is that you will never be bored, hopefully you are not in a rush or you will be eternally frustrated, you can try and plan all you want but we will not end up where you imagined, but usually it is somewhere better. We will probably end up in a deep conversation that ends only because eventually one of us has to go to bed. You will likely meet some of the most amazing people on the planet. We will be outside as much as New England weather will permit (New Englanders can only truly understand the meaning behind this statement).  I will probably get you lost, put you in a potentially dangerous situation, make us some new friends, or try to get you to jump off of something. You will learn, grow, explore, laugh--hopefully not cry (unless you need to get it out), one thing is for certain--it will always end with a story. I am a storyteller. I always have been. These are the things that make me who I am--not my job--not my education level, my pay grade, my bank account, my waist size, it is that which lies within us that drives us that makes us who we are, and nothing else.

So Maya (totally first name basis--I think she would be cool with it) is right. I would rather live in total freedom of eternal indecision than to let that part that lies within myself die at the feet of what society wishes me to be. At least I will know that my life was lived true to that which is really me. That I did not settle for less or good enough, that I lived true to myself, even if I fail. It is my belief that true happiness lies within the true expression of self, where what is within us is allowed to be released--unfiltered and raw. 

Okay, let's face it. I am a child of the suburbs, I am from Boston but pronounce all of my R's, Boston is one of the best walking cities in the world and I find a painful way to be within a mile radius of my vehicle at all times and unsuccessfully following the blue dot on my GPS (which has ironically left me even more lost than prehistoric pre-GPS times). As I find myself working downtown I have no choice but to abandon my vehicle neglectfully on the side of the road and ride this giant piece of metal to the concrete playground everyday. Pretty quickly my friendly suburbian persona has subsided because it has attracted nothing but highly unwanted attention from creepy men, a varying level of both harmless and mildly terrifying mentally ill folks.

As I have begun riding the train I have decided that I greatly despise the way our culture has morphed into a bunch of zombies staring at screens. Despite the pressing need to check and look at our phone (that has audible alerts for this exact purpose) it has shined light upon what it is doing to our already short attention spans. I have also come to the conclusion that those I notice who refuse to keep their heads down and neck strained are either mentally ill or have become my newly chosen best friends in a sea of mindless robots.

Even when our behavior is displayed as this post is on the internet it brings about the feeling that we are constantly competing for attention. We have to be more interesting, bigger--louder--more bold to grab attention. We are simply oversaturated by stimuli diminishing the importance of everyday interactions and choose to lift our heads for a select few things--sex--pizza--ice cream-- the usual suspects. This-- I find to be just plain sad. So I find myself putting down my phone and just observe. 

Last night after working a 12 hour day of craziness I began looking around at all the different faces on the train. I imagined where each person might be coming from, the kind of day they might be having, the type of life they were living. I began involuntarily making judgements and guesses and made up stories of the lives of these strangers-- as I began to stop myself a beautiful interaction caught my attention specifically. 

There was this family that got on the train--a mother, father, son and daughter. The father and son got on and sat in a seat next to this middle-aged woman. She looked disheveled--her clothes misshapen and hung like it was effort for them to not just slip off her small body. She was covered in a film of dirt holding a crumpled whole foods bag and was adorned with mismatched plastic jewelry, and a black eye and bruised cheekbone. There was something about her though-- a kindness--a light in her eyes. I hadn't seen it until this little boy and father came to sit next to her though. She had been out light a light practically snoring until this little boy showed her some unfiltered attention. 

The thing I love about children is that they are not jaded. They often times see things for how they are and are not. They do not know what "experience" has shown them, they do not have preconceived notions or prejudices. Often we dismiss them as though their observations are silly but if we think about some of the things they say and notice-- children are actually pretty profound. 

This boy as though he had known this woman his whole life crawled up onto her lap and began playing with her plastic beads and giving her a hug. This woman awoke from her previously neutral demeanor and I saw her eyes light up just like the child's did. They played together like they had known each other for an eternity. I also found it interesting that the parents did nothing to stop it. Interesting not in a way that I was judging the parents like many may--they were intuitive enough to see that this woman was not a threat. It is not that these parents were being naive to a potentially dangerous situation it was that they were so in tune with the light and beauty coming from this woman despite her outward appearance they accepted the interaction. The boy and woman played for what seemed like an eternity and just a moment simultaneously. I looked around and most of the train could barely look up from their scrolling Facebook screens. Within an instant the family was off at their next stop and were gone in an instant. With no witnesses except myself and this one other guy. 

It is that to which I am afraid. To waste so much of my valuable and precious time on this planet waiting to be interesting enough to capture the attention in competition with a small metal box. Well here's the thing. I am more interesting than a small metal box and there is no competition. Only those who are capable of truly appreciating what is truly important in life and that is what is living and breathing. 

Moral being to myself and to those around me with this common addiction--look up because you are missing it.