I am a writer. A designer. An Athlete.
I’m sitting, knees to chest, in the sand at Turtle Beach. Everything is monochrome. Sky, ocean, beach; muted. The ocean heaves in slow motion and I watch the guys catching waves, also in slow motion. I paddled out and felt weak. I felt watched. Like I didn’t belong. The ocean herself displaced me. Spit me out. I have no fight in me today.
I meet Alexis in the Lido parking lot for the second day in a row. We drive. Tropical Storm Debby is churning up the ocean and pissing rain on everything. We get out to look at The Street and the ocean is a stranger, the seascape so heaving and unfamiliar I get a weird sense of vertigo as we stand in the rain on the beach.
Flat spell. Such an apt name. As a surfer, a flat spell can cast a shadow over my life so dark that everything looks grey and dull. I just read an article in Surfer Magazine about how surfing affects serotonin levels. Surfers, apparently, are less depressed than average folk because we spend so much time in the ocean.