What’s next?

Last week I celebrated the 10th year of my becoming an Australian citizen (Australia Day 1996).

Yesterday morning, I also celebrated reaching the end of a huge undertaking to learn what I could about my new country (or, at least, the tiny portion of it called Roaring Beach). With a group of friends gathered at the base of a sand dune to share coffee, cake and a platter of fruit, I walked into the water to mark the end of this particular journey.

Today, I went to the very same dune at the top of Roaring Beach like I have done for the past 1212 days, but I didn’t descend down to the beach and allow the ocean to grab me with her wild wetness and toss me around. I walked to the top with a yearning to taste, one more time, the salt of the sea in my mouth, but stayed and only looked.

How strange it felt.

I stopped at the top because it felt important to honour yesterday’s ending of my more than three year surfing commitment with a day away from the water. Some form of closure seemed proper. A day of no swimming was appropriate in order to separate what had been done with what next will happen.

A new moon will rise tonight, and with it, an opportunity for new beginnings.

So, the wet suit has remained hanging in the tree, the boogie board and flippers propped up against the wall and me just feeling odd.

Storms, sun, on shore winds, off shore winds or no wind. Big waves, little waves, clean sets, confused sets, messy swells, right hand breaks, left hand breaks or dumping straight across. Pleasant times, scary times; big smile days, sore bone days. It was one hell of a ride.

There were plenty of days, especially in the winter with a southerly blowing, when all I wanted to do was to flop down on the couch by the fire and call it a day. Or, when hail pelted my face walking to the beach, wishing I had never started something so bone chilling cold.

But never once in all those days did I “exit” from the water without feeling refreshed, excited or exulted. Sore, possibly, but not regretful. I invariably bounced back up the hill to the house and felt wonderfully alive. This was especially true when I did a 3:30 A.M. swim two winters ago (under a eerie quarter moon with frost on the ground) in order to make it to Hobart for a vigil at Parliament House. Boy, did I greet the dawn all fresh and full of beans.

One big lesson learned, among many lessons, is that inertia stops many of us from truly engaging in life. Once engaged, however, magic happens.

And, after having experienced 1212 magical days in a row, I can only feel lucky.