After being dry docked for a couple weeks due to Covid and experiencing a couple challenging setbacks that took the wind out of my sails–my juju is coming back. The delusion that something or someone out there is going to fix me had to die again. No one is coming.
Yesterday I woke up early, loaded up the gear, and drove up the coast with hopes of finding some rideable surf. Having not surfed any decent waves for a couple weeks I felt it was time to get after it. I checked the top spots on the way and looked at a beach break in Oxnard, which, according to the forecast, would be breaking. It had the size and shape that was predicted by Surfline–strong offshore wind and a few feet overhead on the sets, but the water color was brownish from post-rain runoff. No telling what kind of nasty contaminates there were living in that silt. Grabbed a coffee at the McDonald’s drive-thru and drove further north.
I wanted a sure thing (needed it), so I opted for the crowded point break. It was Sunday, after all. Crowds, cold air and cold water, rarely jibe with my blue funk/malaise–while experience has shown me time and time again that immersion into the discomfort is the panacea. Rather paradoxical. Waxing philosophical here. Fail!
So I suited up, waxed up, and got out there. Between surfs I took these photos. Depression lifted. Faith restored.
PS: I will affirm that RESISTANCE is the enemy. 
