Dead in the Water
The place I feel most alive.
This morning while getting gas I felt uneasy. Like I was being watched or judged. I stood alone pumping my vehicle with $108 worth of fuel — which usually takes about four full minutes — leaving me with nothing to do with myself for those four full minutes.
My phone was in the car so I became uncertain of where to put my hands. I tried them out in my pockets. Awkward. I tried them on my hips. Diva! I tried them on the car — am I under arrest?
I tried to just stare off into the gray morning, but my eyes wandered to the power lines and the dirty pigeons lining them. What is this mess? How drab. Now I look like a psycho staring at pigeons. Looking at nothing was making me anxious.
I returned to my car — a place full of distractions, beeps and decision making. Busy even when idle. I drove to the beach. Now we’re talking.
My first glimpse of the ocean was of a thick pack of humanity — surfers — sitting idly, staring out to sea. From a distance they give little movement. They are just sitting still. I don’t see anyone riding waves or “surfing” in the verb form. This must be so disappointing to a beach first timer: surfing is little more than a pack of neoprene sprinkles staring into the void? Well, yeah but that’s the thing.
Surfers are off the hook. We’re clear of judgement. Ridicule. And much of anything when we’re in the water. We’re free to stare at nothing. Float. Pop kelp. Wiggle our feet underwater. Hold the nose of our board. Shoot it out and pretend we’re looking at the contours on our fins. But mostly we’re free to wait, idly, doing nothing and waiting for waves that may or may not come. And no one cares. That’s the part that’s easy to take for granted.
Back at the pump, on land, in the industrial wilderness that functions on performative movement, no matter how dysfunctional or counterproductive. I was not free to stare at nothing. Even when I was. The discomfort was too heavy. The pressure to be somewhere else, absorb some blip of information, contribute somewhere or be anywhere outside of that moment was too strong.
I paddled out today, into the quiet lineup, with a new appreciation for nothing. For idleness. For lulls. The worst, most unlikely and dreaded part of our surf experience, the wait. The part where we’re not surfing. That part matters too. Because it’s the only place we just sit, staring at nothing while seeing everything.—Travis Ferré