Point Break
Life and garden updates, fun links, book recommendations, and more.
We woke up to yet another thick and balmy day in Mexico. After slathering sunscreen on every inch of our bodies, we left the comfort of air-conditioning and headed down the dirt path towards town. Today was a surf day.
Spooked by the idea of stingrays and crocodiles, it left us with only one break to surf that week- Stinky’s. Since it was a 30 minute drive and we had no vehicle, we hired a surf instructor to take us out. Chito talked about his family and his dreams of opening a barber shop as he loaded us in to his vintage red convertible. Soon, we were off, zooming down a dusty highway with our hair flapping violently in our faces.
Having only ever surfed beach breaks in my life, the paddle out to a point break felt arduous. Along the way, the clear water revealed pockets of shallow ocean floor. I made a mental note to avoid the ominous rocks and continued forwards stroke by stroke. I looked up and saw the orange of Marina’s swimsuit in the distance. (Having grown up on a literal island, she was already lightyears ahead.)
I paddled a little faster.
I thought about how ridiculous it was for my relatively tiny arms to power the entire weight of my body, plus an 8ft surfboard.
Eventually, I made it to our spot. As we rested from the paddle out, our instructor went through the checklist, reminding us of all the things we had to do to catch the wave:
“Paddle deep!”
“Don’t look down when you pop up! Stay looking at the beach!”
“Stay on the wave! Don’t fall off because there are sharp rocks underneath and you’ll be tossed by the wave behind you. It’s better if you ride it until it’s done.”
After 10 or so minutes of drifting lazily and attempting to read the ocean, he motioned for us to get into position. It was time to try and catch one.
There is a moment that any beginner surfer can recognize where you feel like a total idiot. Gasping from exertion, arms flailing, water splashing, all in an attempt to try and paddle forwards to match the momentum of the incoming wave. It’s almost comical if it wasn’t so pathetic. Most times you’ve read the wave wrong and it’ll just slide under you, a blip on the ocean’s surface. Other times, you misjudge your own speed and will have accidentally placed yourself in the worst possible place— perfectly in the path of a breaking wave, right in the heart of the washing machine. You’ll hear the roar of the water right before you flip and tumble heels over head, surfboard flying into the air; the aqueous equivalent of a skiier’s yard sale.
And yet, sometimes, rarely but sometimes, it will be perfect. The pitiful paddle will pay off, the stars will align, and you’ll find yourself godlike, gliding on water. This time, was one of those times.
As Marina and I caught the same wave, we were ecstatic. The ocean bounced along beneath us, the tiny muscles in my feet and core worked hard to steady me amidst the wobbles. Having only ever surfed baby beach breaks, the point break felt loooooooooooong. Typically, I’m on the wave for no more than a few seconds but here we were, at least 10 seconds in, still coasting. How was I staying on?! It felt rare. It felt luxurious. It felt thrilling.
And honestly, it felt a little intimidating and exhausting.
The stakes were high. Briefly, my mind thought about the laborious paddle back out. A nervous voice inside reminded me that If I fell off now, it would be straight into the washing machine for me. 20 seconds in, I wondered if I would ever catch a wave like this again. I scolded myself for indulging in negative thoughts. (Like I said, the wave was long— clearly long enough for intrusive thoughts to arise.)
30 seconds in, I reminded myself to stay in the moment and enjoy the ride.
I wanted to share this story because when asked, I’ve used surfing to describe the last month of my life. It feels like the only suitable analogy. I despise the label of “busy” and don’t like the negative connotation of being “go go go”; especially because it’s all been mostly enjoyable and incredibly rewarding.
So, instead, it’s been a lot of bouncing along, gasping for breath, adjusting to find steadiness on top of the wave; while feeling exhilarated by the rush of it all because I know just how much work it took to get to this point. It’s been a month of healing from injury, finishing up work projects, a weeklong family roadtrip, prepping for a dance performance (my first ever solo!), hosting a friend at our home, more travel, bridesmaid duties at a friend’s wedding, and planning Tombolo 2.0. Needless to say, I am taking some time to find my footing on solid ground again.
As for that surf day? After what felt like forever, the wave eventually ended. Energized by the thrill, and with fatigue a distance memory, I slid on to my belly. I was ready to paddle back out to catch another.
A few pages from my roadtrip sketchbook/ memory book are shared below. (You can see the full thing here.) While I had the full intention to sketch in the car, I was quickly reminded that I now get car sick 😩. (TBH this is really hard for me to stomach as I used to devour books in the car as a kid.)
Once I got into it, I COULD NOT put Out by Natsuo Kirino down. (Be warned- it’s gory.) I also thoroughly enjoyed When We Were Birds as an audiobook.
A little personal plug! I was grateful to be interviewed by Amelia Hruby from Off the Grid, one of my favourite podcasts about biz & creative life. We chatted about rebranding and re-invention (something I know deeply). Give it a listen and share with anyone who might enjoy it!
I also enjoyed listening to Yowei Shaw’s new podcast- Proxy. I really liked their work on Invisibilia (RIP) and found the premise of emotional journalism interesting:
There wasn’t a lot of TV or movie watching this past month but luckily I had two 5 hour flights last weekend which meant I could fully dive into the world of Sort Of:
A coming-of-age/ dramedy, this came highly recommended by a dear friend. There’s just something so wholesome about CBC TV and now that it’s on Netflix, you bet I binged that.
It’s that time of the year where we can barely keep up with all the garden tasks. After finishing the garden boxes at my sister’s place and planting the seedlings, it was on to the Dahlias!
Miraculously, 90% of our dahlias survived the winter in my haphazard storage system. A lot of them were already sprouting so we made sure to get them into the ground ASAP. Because of the high survival rate (not complaining), we didn’t end up starting any Dahlias from seeds so our special home-bred Dahlias will just have to wait until next year.
As for the garden plot at my home, the perennials are having their moment. Columbine! Jasmine! Bearded Iris! Overgrown rose bushes and eucalyptus! My dining table smells divine.
Some delightful links from around the internet:
The biggest news this week (IMO): Tombolo 2.0 dates have been announced!
I adore a website that is just for fun (it feels so human and so early internet) and this one did not disappoint: The Sound of Love. Love songs paired with love stories. ❤️
Today it’s the daisy that teaches me
about opening. How lovely it was last week.
I praised its yellow, sun-gold petals
reaching out as they were from the bright center.
After last night’s fierce rain, the flower has been trashed,
stripped of its petals. Every. One. Bent and bruised,
they lie splayed in the dirt. And the daisy
goes on with its growing. New leaves.
New roots. New buds. Nourished
by the rain that tore the flower apart.
How often have I, too, lost all my petals, only to learn
that was not the end of the story of opening?
This world is a world of both beauty and loss.
Did I ever really believe one opening
would last me forever? It’s always a lifetime
of learning. Today it’s so clear that when
I can bring presence to loss or resistance,
this act makes pain itself luminous,
is how the heart grows roots, and buds and leaves.
Always it returns to this—offering the broken world
my wonder. In return, oh, the opening. (Source)Anyone else want to join the Science Paper Book Club with me? It’s been a hot minute since I flexed any academic-paper-reading muscles but I’ve recently been served a lot of content from Howtown on Youtube and found my way here.
Speaking of Youtube, once upon a time I thought I wanted to be on that platform. (You’ll remember, you were probably here for it.) I soon realized I just did not have the time to invest in yet another platform right now. And while I was no where near this level of youtube effort, I appreciate this breakdown of The True Cost of Being on Youtube:
On mediocrity and the “Who Cares” Era (spoiler— Care! Be Human!)
AI is, of course, at the center of this moment. It's a mediocrity machine by default, attempting to bend everything it touches toward a mathematical average. Using extraordinary amounts of resources, it has the ability to create something good enough, a squint-and-it-looks-right simulacrum of normality. If you don't care, it's miraculous. If you do, the illusion falls apart pretty quickly.
Lastly, one more self plug, your gal was in Van Mag last month! See my “haul” of some of my favourite things below:
In case you missed it!
Here are some other substack posts from this month:
