By Butch Freedman
I was having a hard time last week. Some kind of cold or flu bug had me coughing and hacking, felt chilled, then overheated, then chilled again. You know the drill. And after a couple days of that, I also found myself spiraling into depression. The dark clouds were getting darker. I told myself, “Get over it, man.” Then when that, not surprisingly, didn’t work, I tried the ‘other-people-have-it-so much-worse-than-you’ gambit. I still felt fuzzy-headed and sorry for myself. I’ve never been formally diagnosed with depression, and don’t use anti-depressants, but historically, and perhaps genetically, that’s how I often roll. I’m good at keeping it to myself. Suffering in silence. Though I suspect my friends and family aren’t fooled. The thing is, I do know how to bounce back, and that saves me. I have deep empathy for those who don’t have that resilience, can’t get out from under the black dog. My case is not that severe. I hunker down for as long as I need to, try not to irritate my wife, who is always sympathetic, and wait it out.
After a few days in this latest episode, I started to feel recovery seeping in. The chills were abating and the coughing less frequent. It was then I started thinking again about surfing. Yep, that’s my anti-depressant. Show me an unhappy surfer or one who’s worried about the state of the world. There’s no time for that out in the waves. But, you also have to be healthy to get out there. Or at least close. And at times you have to plunge ahead and play hurt. Ask any football player.
So when Stacy texted our little cartel of surf nuts that the waves were looking choice and the tides were cooperating, I texted back: Count me in—and a happy face emoji.
But as the time grew near to pull on my wetsuit, I was having second thoughts and creeping doubts made themselves heard: You’re still light-headed, dummy. And, anyway, you’re too damn old for this foolishness. What if you get dizzy out there and get swept away? Back out, old man, live for another day. And so on, and so on, until it was time to get ready, which I did, and did some stretching to loosen up. Told myself to stop thinking and headed down to the beach. The whole crew was there, Stacy and her daughter, Big Wave Dave, and even one new guy, a young athletic looking dude who was out boarding for the first time. I could have been his father or even his grandfather. That gave me pause.
Once we got into the surf, all of my anxiety and dread disappeared. It was almost instantaneous; I felt renewed, refreshed. My body no longer ached, or if it did, I wasn’t feeling it. The water was somewhat warmer than it had been the previous week, and clear. The pelicans were working the waves out beyond where we were set up, swooping and diving. Hardly a soul was on the beach. The waves weren’t big, and there was more chop than was ideal, but whoever gets ideal. Well, sometimes it does happen, but mostly you make do with what’s there. What else can you do. That’s how it works back on land also. Life is just a whole lot clearer when a big wave is headed your way.
The new guy was struggling at first. At one point, he paddled over to me and asked, “What’s the trick?”
“Just gotta keep trying,” I yelled back at him. It’s hard to hear or be heard when you’re both wearing hoods. He looked disappointed with this advice. And I didn’t want to be a dick. So, I told him, “You have to try to get ahead of the break, then push off hard.” He nodded and swam away. As the session wore on, I saw him catch some good waves. I was happy to see it.
After an hour or more, I was feeling worn out. And caught one last wave into the beach. But I no longer felt sick, or weak, and depression was the furthest thing from my brain. We all hung around on the beach for a while after, talking about the waves and telling stories. I was alive in the moment. Not looking back or ahead. I might have even been smiling. What more can you ask.
