Summer in the Northern Hemisphere is upon us, and I've been thinking about the beach. Maybe you have, too.
Sunscreen, sandy floorboards, salty eyebrows, meals on the sand, and long days in the sun.
My wife and I raised our two boys on the beach. It was the one place we could go that didn't cost a dime, and we could reliably count on driving home happier than we came.
On weekday afternoons, she'd take the boys down there with other moms and run the pups. If I could, I'd meet with burritos after work. Beans and rice, right there on the sand. No muss, no fuss.
On weekends, we'd stretch it out. Pack a cooler, set up an umbrella and enjoy a rotating cast of friends through the day.
Our youngest would insist he didn't want to go.
"The mystery, the fear, the moments of doubt, the recalibration in the parking lot... those were mine to discover."
Us: "You don't have to go in the water, but this is what we are doing. This is what we do as a family."
Him: "OK, then I'm not bringing a wetsuit or a bathing suit because I'm not going in the water."
Before we could get the chairs out, he was in the water, fully clothed, laughing his head off and making new friends.
"Even with decades of data, cams, the world’s best swell models, and a suite of tools powerful enough to deconstruct a storm thousands of miles away, the ocean still resisted being fully known. And thank goodness for that."
When it was time to go, we'd dunk them both in the cold showers, wrap them up in towels and bring them home, asleep in the car, sand and salt in their crevices.
Eventually, all that salt and sand on your skin seeps into your bones. Today, both of our boys have surpassed me in skill and courage — surfing, documenting, adventuring, building boards — in ways I never did.
And while my personal relationship to surfing has changed, my passion hasn't dimmed. When my wife and I return to the beach, we'll catch glimpses of our past in the salty groms and young families on the verge of the adventure of their lives.
My wish for them is simple — that the beach, the ocean, surfing in all its forms, teaches them what it taught me — humility, presence, earned reward, and the particular kind of connection that only happens when you're wet and cold and laughing with someone.
Relationships, character, self-confidence, joy. All of it free. None of it owned. Asking nothing in return.
Our sincere hope is that Surfline can empower more folks to get to the beach and get in the water this summer, build some memories, bend time, and get some salt and sand in places where it's not meant to be.
For your good. For their good. For the good.
See you out there,
Ross
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