It's the first swell of the autumn that's above knee high, and I find myself in a lineup in cold water with a handful of dudes.
If I had to guess, these surfers constituted what remained of the precocious puberty crowd from high school - they shaved more at age 14 than I do today, and were socially popular - which as I recall equated roughly with level of promiscuity, willingness to consume alcohol excessively, or both.
Neither was my forte.
I loved biology, taught Sunday school and was a certifiable competitive mathlete.
What brought us together these thirty years later was a decent forecast on the surf report. And, despite the diligent research performed by a Mr. Aaron James (shown in the pie chart below, which is excerpted from his book: Assholes - A Theory), it turns out that if you give an occasionally unpleasant person thirty years to calm down, they mellow with age.
The surfers I spend time alongside in the water don't do headstands and date Gidget on sun-drenched blankets.
They show up on foggy, overcast days and leave their warm beds for bracingly cold water and the stench of decaying kelp on the sand.
These guys have child seats in the second row of their SUVs, and early morning is the beautiful, private moment in their day when they get to recharge their batteries.
No matter how cold, how early or how inconvenient, there's magic to be found in splashing around as you are reminded that the planet is much less tame and much more capricious than our days tend to assume.
On a personal level, I like being reminded of my smallness and insignificance, if only to stay out of my head and remain that much more present in the moment. It's a far healthier frame of reference.
Does a nice job of keeping the ego in check, too, given that we doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream.