If you push your hand into water, disregarding the temperature, there isn’t much difference between pushing your hand through the air. The resistance is there, but slight, and near the surface, moving gently, the water gives easily, slipping off a surfboard and into the ocean is effortless. If you jump off of a diving board, and drop a few feet before impact, you’ll notice a big difference. Smack, you collide and it stings.

The place between near nothingness and the hard smack of a belly flop is where a surfer floats and plays, working the resistance, sliding, slipping, pressing the tail or a rail hard against the fluid tension.

I sit on my board a half-mile off Waikiki, dangling my legs in the water, watching, waiting for a bump to rise up on the near horizon. When it comes, I turn and begin paddling toward shore, holding my fingers tightly together to catch the water, I reach ahead, pulling in toward myself and pushing back. As I quickly gain speed the board rises up in the water, moving like a boat, but still plowing, pushing water out. When the wave arrives and pushes me I pick up more speed and the board slips up and out of the water, onto the surface, beginning its slide down the face as I press myself up and commit to the wave.
I’m on my feet now and the surfing begins. I slide down the face of the wave, straight for the trough. As I reach the flat, I press with the ball of my rear foot, shifting my bodies center of gravity, driving the left rail of the 10'2 Ben Aipa Stinger into the water and forcing the board to turn. A spray of water fans over the same foot that initiated the turn.

The first waves I remember catching as a beginning surfer were thrilling, even when small. The feeling of being lifted and pushed was new and exciting and even the simplest of waves inspired a euphoric buzz. Wave catching happens more naturally now and I don’t recall each moment of every wave as clearly; it takes new thrills, bigger waves, steeper drops, later takeoffs, something remarkable has to happen, to make a space in my memory. But when I was new to it, those first waves were like the best movie I ever watched. I can still recall each detail, each moment, each image is etched clearly in my mind. I can tell the story of what happened, feel the water on my foot, the sting of salt in my eye, the smell of the wax, I can hear the curling top crumbling over on itself, each sensation a thrill. The overall feeling of surfing, especially in big, attention demanding surf is primal; I’m back in the womb, awash in warm salty water, subject to the rhythms and power of something much larger and more powerful than I am.

A Different Buoyancy

I have a spirit in my life that I like and it’s something that others find attractive in me. Kolohe in Hawaiian, coyote in Native American, the trickster, rascal, joker, all share the similar spirit and when I let that out in my writing, my voice comes through. I’m capable of writing with that lively, fun spirit and when I’m on it I’m also capable of writing with depth. I’m not just throwing myself out and being nutty. I’m capable of connecting in writing the way I do in every day life. I love talking to people, finding common ground, sharing myself in a deeper, more meaningful way. I can see that same adventure, the same wit in my kids. I like the way Aoíbhinn smiles at me when she gets a timeout. I love to see that happy little rebel. She needs to learn not to grab the bag of Twizzlers and start stuffing as many as possible in her face before momma can get them away from her, but she doesn’t need to be crushed in the process.

She’s a willful kid. I have to teach her to use that will to her advantage. Will isn’t bad, it isn’t benign either; she has to know she has that will and she has to learn how to apply it, when to let it push her, how it can help, and how it can be a hazard. A strong will can be a difficult thing to manage. It can get you into trouble, it can take you too far down the river, past the point where you should pull your boat out and look for a safer path around hazardous waters.

I’ve been willful enough to push myself beyond what’s safe, what’s fun, past the point of adventure, through risk and into a place where I’m asking for trouble. I’m a brother to three of the most recusant men I know; they’ve made a life of risk-taking, thrill seeking, riding their willfulness unchecked, living self-destructive lives. Brian’s in prison, and so is Sean, and Colin seems to be struggling with a monkey on his back....

So, I'm here in Waikiki for a little while to sort myself out.