One
Noodles
With treacherous tides and gnarly waves, this stretch of coastline is not for the faint of heart. Danger signs stand guard, warning adventurous swimmers to stay away, but this is where I commune with the universe and sync my energy with the rhythms of life.
Go with the flow.
That’s one of my favorite sayings. It applies to pretty much every situation in life.
Right now, that means watching the scarred fin of a great white cut through the water's surface. There’s a chunk missing off the tip, and a four-inch cut along the backside about halfway down.
This is when most people get out of the water, but I know Old Joe. He's been my surfing buddy for years.
“I see you, old friend.”
An easy truce exists between us. If I don't look like a seal snack, he leaves me alone.
I draw my arms and legs onto my surfboard and spin to a sitting position, crossing my legs into lotus pose. A swell passes, lifting my board and lowering it down. A fetch of wind gusts toward land, kicking up a spray of water, which splashes against my face. The saltwater’s cold as fuck, but my wetsuit keeps the chill at bay.
“What’s going on with you today, Joe? You out hunting seal?”
I always talk to Joe. He’s a great listener and doesn’t mind me unloading my shit on him.
Joe comes right at me. He’s a curious fish. Until the universe decides otherwise, I'm chill with hanging out with Old Joe.
I like him.
“Did you get yourself a nice fat seal?” There’s a colony of seals up the beach who sun on the rocks. He snacks on them.
Joe keeps me centered. A ruthless hunter, he's calculating, cold, devoid of emotion, and entirely driven by instinct. He makes no excuses for what he is and is entirely at peace with his purpose in life.
Unlike me.
“It’s a good day to be out, Joe.” I glance up at the cloudless, pre-dawn sky. The world is waking up and I soak up the peaceful energy to sustain me through the day.
Surrender to the ocean.
Easier said than done.
Sometimes it’s eerily calm out here. Mirror smooth waters. Barely a ripple. Other times, it’s raw and chaotic. The wind whips the waves into a frenzy and powerful currents reign supreme.
Joe's close, and curious, but not interested in me. He’s probably taking a break from hunting seals.
“You really are curious today, aren’t you? Well, I have something to say, if you’re willing to listen.”
I tell the guys that I talk to Old Joe. They think it’s a joke. They’d freak if they knew the truth.
There’s always that tiny hitch in my throat, that moment when my heart jumps and adrenaline spikes in my veins, when Joe gets a tad bit too close.
Is this my time?
But no.
Joe’s merely coming in to say Hello.
His nose bumps the front of my board and he lifts his snout above the surface of the water. Rows of deadly teeth fill his mouth, but it’s his inky black eye that draws my attention. I always wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Joe jerks to the left, knocking my board, and swims away.
“Yeah, it’s been a rough few days for me too.”
The swells lift me up and lower me down. It’s a rhythm I understand. Out here, there’s no false pretense. I’m not the master of anything. I’m simply one solitary guy, letting the rhythms of sea and tide determine my fate.
There are only two questions out here.
Will I carve the perfect wave? Or will the fury of the surf take me under on my last ride?
There’s a zen kind of existence layered in there.
Joe trolls a few yards away, circling around me. His scarred fin cuts through the water silently, effortlessly. He twitches again.
“Something got you excited?” I scan the waters. Maybe there’s a lonely dolphin out here or a school of fish.
For a moment, he arrows right at me, almost like he’s going to ram my board, but at the last second, he dives beneath me. His grayish-white silhouette passes under my board. Joe’s fucking huge, half again the length of my board and three times as broad.
He makes things real.
“I’ve been thinking again, Joe.”
Joe pops back to the surface ten yards away, like he’s listening to me.
“Feels like I’m spinning my wheels.”
Joe’s sleek form cuts through the water. I love the way he swims. It’s graceful, powerful, and deadly.
“We’re on scheduled downtime and supposed to be relaxing, but our energy is off.”
With all this free time, I should be chill as a pill. I’ve been out surfing every morning and most afternoons—those are the best times to come out—though I’m not chilling. Neither are my bandmates. We’re all spinning like tops.
“Ash and Bash are working on the new album, but their creativity is shot to hell.”
Their auras bleed frustration.
Joe twitches. I swear he hears me. I continue unloading my worries.
“Spike stomps around like a maniac.” I huff a small laugh. “Yup, you got it. His stress comes from a completely different place.”
The recent arrival of Bash’s teenage daughter, Angel, a beautiful girl of seventeen going on thirty, causes all kinds of chaos. Spike feels tension all right. He’s wound up tighter than a spring and his aura is stressed to the max.
I tell Joe all about the band, laying it out for him. I tell him how Bent and his wife, Piper, seclude themselves in their suite, doing the kinky things those two get up to in private. I swear they only come out to eat, then they go back to fuck and retreat to their private world.
Bash and his wife, Holly, take their dogs for long runs. She gives Bash the space he needs to stress the fuck out without having him turn that stress on her. Those two in a fight are incendiary. When she’s not running, she’s on the drums pounding her frustrations into some of the most intense beats I’ve ever heard. Holly’s a musical genius, a wild red-headed ball of fury who doesn’t take shit from anyone.
Spike and I are the two holdouts, still bachelors, although I have a feeling that’ll soon change.
“You know what’s wrong?”
Joe makes another circle around me.
“They’re all moving on.” It becomes more pronounced as the days roll past. “But I’m stuck.”
My life is no different from when I was sixteen. I’m a thirty-year-old beach bum, surfing the waves, playing in a rock band, and fucking a new chick every night. Although, I’m in a bit of a dry spell right now. My wingman is otherwise preoccupied.
“I’m facing one epic existential crisis. Do I really want to be playing the crowds at sixty-five?” I don’t think so.
My life is all about surfing, fucking, and playing in a band. When I think about it, that’s not the kind of man I want to be.
“I missed my purpose. It’s time to grow up.”
I look around, but I’ve lost Joe. There’s no sign of his ghostly shadow anywhere around me. Although, it’s getting harder to see with the way the wind’s kicking up.
From the outside looking in, my life looks perfect. I have all the chicks I want. More sex than I can handle. As for money, I’ve got more than I’ll ever need. But, I’m in the exact same place I was when Ash and Bash asked me to play in their band at sixteen.