I’m on the road this weekend, at the supposedly-sunny Ritz Carlton hotel in Dana Point, California. I’m helping produce a development event for work. Travel gives me lots more time to think about things, but little opportunity to write them down. I’m in between video interviews of a Costa Rican pastor (all in Spanish, I’m having to learn quickly), so here’s a quick few posts.
Watching surfers catching the waves is oddly mesmerizing. There’s quite a lot of them off the Point, and the waves are fairly benign this time of year. It’s no warmer than our Oregon coast today, though, with mist and a stiff, salty breeze. I’d love to take up surfing, y’know, with all my spare time. I bet the kids would love it; there are lots of little groms out there, spinning and weaving expertly. It requires a lot of patience - many times falling and trying to get in that zone for a wave - not to mention the challenge of actually standing on it. The lesson in patience is one a few of my kids could use right now; we have some perfectionistic strands developing here and there (not sure where that’s coming from…).
I bet the feeling is magical, though. I remember playing in the waves near Malibu as a boy; my grandparents lived up the road in Calabasas. The waves would pound me, spin me like in a washing machine. Laying in bed that night, my body was still caught in that powerful twisting grip, floating and bobbing whenever I closed my eyes.
On 
