When I was in Mexico earlier this year, I loved getting up in the morning, walking along the shore, and then body surfing the waves of the ocean--all before breakfast. H-band taught me a few tricks to riding waves that I never had an opportunity to practice in the relatively tame waters where I grew up. He could spot a wave coming from several hundred yards out.
"Here we go," he'd say, and I'd assume the position: Back toward the endless expanse of water, eyes focused on the shore, one arm out in front of me and one behind. When the wave approached, at just the right time H-band would yell, "Start swimming!" and I'd frantically freestyle-stroke like I was trying to escape a great white. About 70 percent of the time the wave would wash over me, and I'd emerge from the water with my hair in my face, disoriented. "Nope," H-band would say, "you didn't catch that one." The other 30 percent of the time I would feel this sensation of being lifted up and forward, and I would emerge yards ahead in the shallow water. That was catching a wave.
I never quite understood what made a wave surfable--they all looked pretty big to me, but H-band could tell if one would crash too soon to ride, or if it would grow. I look at what I navigate on a daily basis--namely, a business--and wonder, "How good am I at riding waves?"
No wave is the same. While there is a general direction they take, some swell disappointingly early; some bring a surprising sensation of warm or cold. Every day is fraught with some variation, even if it is moving in the same general direction of growth. Some days the meeting is cancelled--a small swell that dies too soon; or some breaking news in the blogosphere cancels out the regular business of the day--a deceptively large swell that pulls everything in the vicinity to the shore, exhausted.
The same thrill of predicting waves and riding them to my advantage compells me to get a handle on these random events that over time do not seem so random. Chaos becomes the norm, becomes cyclical, like waves. So why can't I spot them, estimate how powerful they will become, and then let them propel me forward, or wait them out while pursuing bigger, more meaningful, ones?
All I can do at the moment is wake up each day and assume the position: back to the ocean, eyes ahead, arms ready to paddle, paddle, paddle.
"Here we go," he'd say, and I'd assume the position: Back toward the endless expanse of water, eyes focused on the shore, one arm out in front of me and one behind. When the wave approached, at just the right time H-band would yell, "Start swimming!" and I'd frantically freestyle-stroke like I was trying to escape a great white. About 70 percent of the time the wave would wash over me, and I'd emerge from the water with my hair in my face, disoriented. "Nope," H-band would say, "you didn't catch that one." The other 30 percent of the time I would feel this sensation of being lifted up and forward, and I would emerge yards ahead in the shallow water. That was catching a wave.
I never quite understood what made a wave surfable--they all looked pretty big to me, but H-band could tell if one would crash too soon to ride, or if it would grow. I look at what I navigate on a daily basis--namely, a business--and wonder, "How good am I at riding waves?"
No wave is the same. While there is a general direction they take, some swell disappointingly early; some bring a surprising sensation of warm or cold. Every day is fraught with some variation, even if it is moving in the same general direction of growth. Some days the meeting is cancelled--a small swell that dies too soon; or some breaking news in the blogosphere cancels out the regular business of the day--a deceptively large swell that pulls everything in the vicinity to the shore, exhausted.
The same thrill of predicting waves and riding them to my advantage compells me to get a handle on these random events that over time do not seem so random. Chaos becomes the norm, becomes cyclical, like waves. So why can't I spot them, estimate how powerful they will become, and then let them propel me forward, or wait them out while pursuing bigger, more meaningful, ones?
All I can do at the moment is wake up each day and assume the position: back to the ocean, eyes ahead, arms ready to paddle, paddle, paddle.
How much do I love how you live with reflective perspective?
Posted by: Sinead Noonan | October 21, 2009 at 03:31 PM
One of the tricks to riding waves is to be able to spot which ones to ride and which ones to avoid - no sense in wasting your energy on those that are too small, too big, or will close-out. So, why "assume the position" for every business wave that comes your way? By looking out into the sea you can spot the waves to avoid early on and save yourself the time and energy, so you can spend it writing...
Great stuff babe!
Posted by: H-band | October 24, 2009 at 10:12 AM
What a great way to start the day. You created such a nice visual of the scene too. Nice post:)S
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