With all the events filling the news in the past week—the shoot-down of the mysterious Chinese balloon and now of some unidentified object over Alaskan air space, the horrendous and heart-breaking earthquake that struck Turkey and Syria, the political tensions both at home and internationally—you might have missed the story about the derailment of a train in Ohio carrying hazardous chemicals. But I sure didn’t! It happened four miles upwind from my home. I could see the black smoke from here.
Last Monday, in order to prevent an explosion of one endangered tank car, authorities decided to conduct a “controlled explosion,” releasing a huge cloud of dense black smoke into the overcast sky. I watched from my kitchen window as the cloud floated toward my property, eventually turning the sky so dark that it looked like midnight outside at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Authorities said air samples said it had posed no danger, but some folks in the area are experiencing headaches and feeling sick. And although I’m generally robustly healthy, I confess I’m not quite 100% myself.
I’m not concerned. My symptoms are mild – a bit of a sore throat. I expect to bounce back quickly. I told myself it’s just a trough in the waves. And that reminded me of a piece I wrote a while back, called “Learning to Surf.” I dug it out and read it. And because the world is what it is these days, I thought I’d share it with you again. . .
Learning to Surf
I admit, it can be hard to get your bearings on this old planet the way everything keeps shifting and sliding and all. The best that any of us can do is to do the best we can, moment to moment to moment.
It’s like the famous poster from the 1960’s where you see a yogi-like figure in long robes on a surfboard riding an enormous wave, his arms outstreched, his wet hair flying in the wind. Across the photo in bold white letters is printed, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
The world is giving us surfing lessons big-time now. And sometimes it feels like high tide. It’s part of the adventure of being here. We get to live all the drama from inside it.
By the way, did you ever watch somebody learn to surf? It isn’t a pretty sight. Or graceful. Or smooth. They fall a lot. Sometimes they get injured. Sometimes they even get killed. That’s the kind of adventure we’re in. We risk death every moment. Threats surround us from our very first breath, from before that even.
But here’s the thing. Most who are learning to surf succeed. They get the hang of it, of the unpredictability of the ride. They get the rhythm and flow of unexpected curves. For some, it becomes a kind of dance or meditation. For some it’s a challenge of skills, a grand game. But you only rise to those levels to the degree that you let go of fear. Most of us are just paddling around as best we can, scared of dying, trying to get enough balance to stand. Our big glory is that when we fall, we climb back on, regardless of our fears and regrets. And these days, that can be one mean feat.
I love that about humans–the way we keep getting back on the board, working at making it work, even against all odds. Even when we have no idea why. God bless us all.
And God bless you, individually—you, who’s reading this letter right now. These are bewildering times. Balance doesn’t come easy for any of us. We’re riding on storm-tossed seas.
It’s okay to be afraid. Useless, but okay. It’s okay to be sad, or angry, or miserable. Just get back on the board and keep paddling. Eventually you’ll rock with the waves, rolling over their crests and into their valleys as if you were born to do it. Because, obviously, you were.
It doesn’t have to make sense. It might be a long while before we’re in calm seas. Life isn’t going to be what we had imagined it would be. But it’s still our life, our chance to ride the waves. Kinda wild, isn’t it? Kinda outrageous.
Just hold on, and rock and roll.
Warmly,
Susan