I’d learned to surf on this San Jose del Cabo wave, convinced of my familiarity with its rhythm and temper. Yet, the ocean held secrets I had yet to uncover. As I paddled out, the gentle breeze whispered tales of the sea, mingling with the tang of salt in the air. A pristine three-foot wave approached, its crest shimmering with sunlight.
With practiced ease, I caught the wave, feeling the exhilarating rush of adrenaline as I rode it deep to the right. Beneath me, the reef came into view, a colorful tapestry of coral and marine life. Balancing on my board, I extended a toe over the edge, the sensation akin to dancing on water. A surge of happiness washed over me as I cleanly swooped off the wave, the cool spray of the ocean refreshing against my skin. Eager for another ride, I paddled out again, ready to embrace the endless rhythm of the waves.
Typically cautious, I found myself questioning my judgment as I realized I’d ridden too deep into the break zone where 8 foot (and growing) waves broke over sharp, sea-urchin lined rocks.. Recent events had left me slightly off-balance – a concussion from surfing in San Diego, a hurried trip to Mexico, and a forgotten phone number, all compounded by the missed hurricane swell warning. Despite my year and a half of surfing experience, perhaps I had grown a tad overconfident.
A knot formed in my chest, tightening with each passing second. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I scanned the horizon, weighing my options. ‘Paddle towards the dark waves and pray I make it over? Wait here and catch a wave? Or make a break for shore?’ The decision hung heavy in my mind, each choice fraught with its own risks.
I paddled towards shore. Whatever you do, do not turn around.
But of course, my curiosity to experience the scale of the wave got the best of me.
Turning back, I saw an enormous wall of foam chasing me to shore, an ominous reminder of nature’s unforgiving power. Panic seized me, its grip tightening with each passing second.
That is a massive fucking wave. I started hyperventilating then the churning whirlpool of the wave engulfed me, spinning me in dizzying circles.
Yet, amidst the chaos, a strange calm descended, enveloping me in a surreal tranquility and gently replacing the initial panic. I felt as though I was being lifted from my body, suspended in a serene state above the rolling waves. From this peaceful vantage point, I observed my physical form, even giggled at the odd angles my limbs took on as the wave roiled below.
Drifting through a tranquil expanse, memories of cherished moments flashed through my mind, – of my family, my friends, my home in chronological order. It’s been nice, this life of mine. Each one a comforting reminder of the richness of life. With a serene smile, I embraced the beauty of existence, grateful for the calm reassurance that enveloped me.
Before I had a chance to relive fourth grade, I was violently snapped back to my senses.
As I regained awareness, a curious phrase seemed to echo in the recesses of my mind: “It’s not your time yet.” Yet, it didn’t feel like my own voice speaking those words; rather, they emanated from some external presence, an observer detached from my immediate reality.
Surging upward to the water’s surface, I found myself granted a fleeting respite, a brief interlude of clarity amidst the tumultuous currents. With mere seconds to spare before the relentless backwash surged forth anew, an instinctual urgency born of survival arose inside me.
Dig! DIG! The voice screamed in my head.
Exhaustion left my body completely, and superhuman strength propelled me to shore. I crawled up on the sand, laid out panting. I didn’t have a scratch on me. Looking out to sea, a surfer cautiously outfitted in a bright yellow helmet carved up the face of a double overhead wave.
My hands trembling and unable to speak, an overwhelming feeling of gratefulness washed over me, followed by tremors of fear about how close I felt to the edge, and finally, peace.
As I lay on the sand, trembling and overwhelmed by a rush of conflicting emotions, I couldn’t help but reflect on the profound implications of my near-death experience. In the aftermath of this near-death experience, I was confronted with the inevitability of our own mortality and the fleeting nature of existence. And yet, amidst the uncertainty, there existed a glimmer of hope – a recognition of the beauty inherent in life’s fragile dance.
Returning to San Diego, I found the familiar sights took on a newfound luminosity, each detail infused with a heightened vibrancy. As I embraced my loved ones, their warmth enveloped me, anchoring me to a profound sense of gratitude.
Yet, beneath the surface, a subtle shift had occurred. The ocean, once a sanctuary, now held a somber allure, its depths a reminder of the fragility of existence. Surfing became a less frequent pursuit, the memory of my brush with mortality casting a lingering shadow over my once carefree endeavors.
Now, in its place blossomed a newfound commitment to authenticity, a resolve to honor the moments and connections that truly mattered. No longer burdened by the weight of unmet expectations or self-imposed obligations, I found solace in the simplicity of being present.
In the kaleidoscope of memories and flashbacks, it was the moments of shared laughter, heartfelt embraces, and genuine connection that endured. Gone were the nagging reminders of unfinished tasks or the fear of disappointing others. Instead, I found liberation in the embrace of the here and now, guided by the unwavering clarity that accompanies a brush with mortality.