Beneath the Waves in San Diego
A surfing scare and shift in perspective
“I can’t be the last person to see her alive,” I thought, heart racing.
Minutes before, I had watched my friend paddle out into the ocean on her surfboard. I watched her disappear over the waves.
I didn’t think twice. My friend was the epitome of fit. A naval officer, a marathon runner, a bootcamp queen… if anyone could out-swim or out-surf these waves, it was her. Yet I waited. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. I headed back to the shore for a better look towards the horizon. There was no sign of my friend, no sign of her board, not even a ripple in the waves.
She and I met while she was attending medical school in the same Midwestern city where I now reside. Her personality was boundless… extroverted, bubbly, full of adventure. Fiercely intelligent. Unafraid of other people’s opinions. Endlessly funny and beautiful inside and out.
We quickly became friends. I aspired to her level of effervescence. Despite a military career, a demanding medical school schedule, and a vibrant social life, she remained upbeat. We shared the same name, same faith, and same love for travel, but my friend had a larger-than-life personality, which was both endearing and inspiring.
We took a surfing lesson a year prior. The instructor had us zip into wetsuits. It felt like stuffing a sausage into a tight casing, but I was hopeful that it would help with something. The temperature of the water, maybe? The aerodynamics of the board?
The surf instructor guided us through the process on the shore. He had us stand beside our boards, paddle as though in the water, and practice jumping from our bellies to our feet. I watched as my friend leapt effortlessly like a ninja, as I faltered like a ballerina imposter.
When we transitioned to the water, I watched my friend as her long, lean frame went gliding from lying to standing as her board drifted majestically towards the shore.
I bounced in the water, awestruck.
The instructor grabbed my board and guided it perpendicular to the oncoming wave. He urged me next, “Okay, paddle!” I began to paddle ferociously and desperately against the oncoming wave. “Get up!” He exclaimed as the back of the board met the ascending wave. I struggled to push my body off the board. When my feet met the fiberglass beneath and I found myself in a semi-surf stance, suddenly the board flew up from underneath. My body crashed into the ocean, saltwater flooding my nose, my side slamming onto the shallow sand underneath.
I was hooked.
I was also immensely hopeful to eventually reach that impressive, effortless flow that my friend had achieved.
Two hours and countless wipeouts later, I dragged my board to the shore in disappointment and defeat. My eyes stung with saltwater, my limbs shook beneath me. My stomach burned with the core workout.
I watched as my sprightly friend bounded towards the shore. The poor instructor had spent the last two hours hopelessly trying to help me catch one wave, as my friend continued to hit the surf like a seasoned athlete.
So there we were, one year later, deciding to surf again. My friend had spent her off days for the last year trying to perfect her craft. When she offered a day at the beach surfing, I obliged, both intimidated and determined. Instead of renting a board, she and I decided to take turns using her board.
A third dear friend was with us. We offered up the opportunity to surf, but she happily decided to stake a spot on the beach with a good book. It was an unseasonably cool, overcast day in May. Beachgoers were scarce. Other than three, twenty-something women and a couple of lifeguards, the beach felt deserted.
My attempts were about as successful as they were a year prior, but I wasn’t giving up yet. Eventually, my friend declared, “I’m going to paddle out a little bit further to try to catch a bigger wave.”
A sense of relief washed over me. Oh, good, a break to regain strength in my arm muscles!
I watched in awe as she paddled further and further out into the waves. I briefly returned to the shore to talk to our other friend, engrossed in a book on the beach. I figured that there was more than enough time with my friend’s extended paddle to meet a monstrous wave.
About ten minutes later, I headed back towards the shore, hoping to see my friend smoothly sailing along with a tunneled wave curling behind her. But I didn’t see a thing. I looked from one end of the horizon to the other. No swimmers, no surfers, no boats. Just an undisturbed tide.
That’s when my mind began to race.
Maybe she’s out there waiting for a wave and on her way back?
Then it began to spiral.
What if she fell in?
What if there was an undertow?
What if she… drowned?!
Nausea flooded over me. My heart began to pound. Where was she???
I swam out towards the horizon. I yelled her name. I looked, terrified, for a bobbing board or a flow of black hair in the water.
Each second met with more fear than the last.
Suddenly, I found myself bolting towards shore. If the worst-case scenario were coming true, I wouldn’t be able to save her. At this point, I was far down the beach from my other friend, lounging on the blanket.
Frantically, I sprinted across the shore to the lifeguards.
I spit out the words in a near-incoherent manner.
“My friend… waves… don’t see her…. I’m worried she drowned.”
They looked up from what they were doing, seemingly unfazed.
Nonchalantly, one stated, “Okay, give us a minute, we will go look for her.”
All of the panic boiled over at once as I yelled, “I’M. WORRIED. SHE. DROWNED.”
With a slightly increased sense of urgency, one of the lifeguards headed out towards the shore with their safety pack and buoy. I couldn’t breathe. Was it too late?
Seconds later, I saw my friend running down the beach, board in tow.
“That wave was CRAZY!” She exclaimed.
I exhaled all at once, like air letting out of a balloon.
“Where were you!?” I exclaimed, matching her level of excitement with my level of fear.
“Oh, the wave was so big it pushed me far down the shore, but it was EPIC!”
Shaking with adrenaline, I threw my arms around my friend, clueless about my breakdown moments before.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I sputtered, through joy and a subtle welling of tears.
As quickly as the chaos ensued and resolved, like the swelling of the sea, suddenly I was acutely aware of what truly mattered. Who cared that I sucked at surfing. It wasn’t worth comparing my skills (or lack thereof) with my sporty pal. Were the stressors, pressures, and competitions that I struggled with daily just part of an arbitrary, self-created construct?
The love for my friends ran much deeper than my silly insecurities. This seemingly uncontrollable situation also served as a stark reminder about the transience of time. We never know when everything could come crashing down. When crisis may hit, or when chaos may ensue.
As salt water dripped off of my wetsuit and I shivered on the shore, I felt overcome by gratitude for my friend. For her life, for her vitality, and her spirit. In an instant, fear and panic swept under the sea, as joy and compassion took their place. The sudden icy realization of the fragility of life met with the warmth of relief at my friend’s safety. I hugged her a little tighter that day. Vowing to not take another second, another hug, or another dear friend for granted.