Firm Father or Daddy?

I've written before that messes are a big part of my life, as I spend much of my day cleaning up all sorts of toys, food, etc. It comes with the territory of kids. But lately I have been finding myself spending a lot of energy trying to make sure the kids don't make messes in the first place (so I don't have to clean them up, or enforce them cleaning up, which is another beast altogether). Sometimes I worry, however, that I am breeding OCD, type-A people that won't be comfortable with things out of order. This is especially true in our kitchen/dining area, where I have always been pretty adamant about keeping things clean.

Yesterday, Waverly was eating lunch and tried to switch chairs. If there is one child I am not worried about becoming OCD, it's definitely her -- messes are her comfort zone. Well, as she moved from the outside chair to the inside, she accidentally fell between the two and onto the floor. In the process, she flipped over her lunch plate, and rice, green beans, pears and tofu scramble went all over the place. Yeah...

Waverly's personality in a nutshell.

As she sat crying on the floor, my first impulse wasn't to console her, however, but the clean up the mess. People tell me I'm a good dad, but in moments like this, they may change their minds. My flaws go on display like the sun-dried tomatoes scattered all over the floor. I did make sure she was okay and cleaned her off, but honestly I was kind of mad at her. Waverly moves about very erratically most of the day, always moving, leaning on stuff, falling over -- I saw this as an extension of her inability to stay still (perhaps this is an unrealistic expectation?). I then sat her down and started cleaning up, while she cried next to me, clearly distraught.

It took a few minutes, but eventually I did stop cleaning and consoled her. I realized she needed more from me than a clean floor, and so I picked her up and checked on her emotional state. After she had calmed a little, I finished cleaning, but even then she was still upset. Finally, I sat her on my lap and ate lunch with her -- she needed me more than anything.

This balance between rearing competent, responsible individuals, and giving the grace needed for a toddler is kind of tricky. Having two children at different ages and maturities makes it even more difficult. Sometimes they need the firm father, but sometimes they just need Daddy. I guess I'm still learning where the lines are, but the most important thing, I would say, is to always remain sensitive to both internal and external needs, prioritizing and adjusting as needed.

And some folks think staying home with the kids is easy...

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Determined

I used to be a pretty determined guy on a skateboard. I would try tricks for hours, endless attempts, over and over. Usually my friends would stand on, watching, often video taping the tries. As I've scanned those old clips, I've apologized for making them do that; but at the time, all I wanted was to land that trick. Even though I probably took it too far, I look back on that time as character-developing -- it's good to be persistent, and skateboarding was where I learned that.

Now, an older Rick who still skateboards has chilled out a bit. I've learned that beating my body and getting frustrated over a skateboard trick isn't as important as it used to be. It makes my sessions more relaxing, but sometimes I lament the fervor with which I used to skate. But sometimes this relaxed approach to boardsports goes a little too far. Sometimes you need to push yourself, and today was one such day.

Glove box fix for a broken toe.

I broke my toe about a month ago surfing, and so most of my activities have screeched to a halt. A week ago I tried for a session at Dockweiler and after four waves decided my toe was too injured to stay out. This week, my family took a trip down to Carlsbad, where I've never surfed. We're receiving a little swell that is supposed to dissipate as the week goes on, and so I wanted to paddle out now, even though it's only been a week since my last painful attempt. I wore booties this time, so at least I'm taking some precautions.

All of that is to say that I am rather out of shape at the moment, and for the first 15-20 minutes of my surf I struggled. I couldn't catch my breath, my arms felt heavy and my body wasn't reacting quickly in the cold water. On top of that, the waves were smallish and the water was rather choppy. As a result, I nearly paddled in after just a couple closeouts.

But as the thought passed through my head, something shifted. I was reminded of those days when I would stick to a trick for hours on end. Surfing is kind of my new skateboarding, and though progression has been slow, I am still learning new things. I asked myself if maybe this was the kind of session I need to stick with, learn how the waves were breaking, figure it out. And so I did. The waves broke fast, and I kept leaning too far back and falling -- okay, that's easily corrected. There were weird cross-currents and backwash hitting the sets -- that's a little harder to adjust for, but something to look after.

So I stuck it out for another half-hour or so, and you know what? It wasn't a great session. However, my 32 year-old body did push through that ever-increasing warm-up phase, and by the end of it, I felt pretty good. I did find myself a little more comfortable on a break that was as wild as a windy East Coast day, though I never quite caught a good wave. Still, I was proud of myself for sticking with it. It reminded me of those old days on the skateboard, never quitting.

However, on my last wave in, I caught my toe on a weird angle and reinjured it. I'm icing it now as I write this. So take that for what it is...a relentless approach doesn't come without setbacks I suppose, but I would argue it is worthwhile.

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Soul Session

Point Dume never disappoints. Even on flat days, the cove is beautiful enough to captivate and inspire. I've only been three times, however, but each one was enjoyable, despite tiny surf the first two. My last surf session was a welcome turnaround, with head-high-plus sets. But sometimes good waves will show you things about yourself you'd rather not see, and on this last Dume day, I had one such session.

Usually when I surf I'm the guy on the outside, catching the leftovers. I'm not very competitive, and popular breaks tend to get crowded with people that will jump right in front of you to catch a wave, and then get mad at you for being in their way. I just don't like to deal with that, so I paddle where it looks half-decent and let the current take me where it will.

But during this last Point Dume session, something changed. I paddled right to the top of the lineup (This is usually highly offensive in the surf world, but Malibu is its own beast, and there usually isn't a traditional "lineup" per se), partly because of the way the cove is shaped, but also partly because I wanted to catch good waves and was feeling confident. I remained relatively humble, however, and let a few go by, watching for the best spot. After letting some go that I should have went for (pulling back because of fear on steep waves), I eventually caught an awesome, long right-hander, the kind that I call "cost of admission waves" -- if you don't catch anything else the rest of the day, that wave was worth the drive, the paddle out, the crowd, the wipeouts; it's just that good.

I took my time on the long paddle back and decided to camp out in the outside-to-middle of the cluster of surfers. The lulls between sets were becoming long, but eventually my wave came. The problem was, there was a guy right in front of me who could have also caught it. And then, in a sneaky move, I paddled to his inside and jumped up, stopping him cold. "Inside man gets the wave" is a well-known rule in surfing, but I had just forced myself into that position in a way that just didn't feel right.

Point Dume during Hurricane Marie, 2014

Fast-forward a few sets later, and I went for another wave. I think there was a guy in my peripheral that had already dropped in, but I took it anyway and just pumped my way forward as fast as I could to try and get out of his way. This is a total jerk move in my opinion, though it is fairly acceptable in Malibu. See for yourself -- just watch any Surfline camera on a Malibu break and I guarantee that the first wave you see will have 2-4 guys on it at a time. It's ridiculous and something I speak against often, but here I was, committing the same crime I condemned.

To be fair to myself, these waves were breaking in such a way that often 2-3 people could ride it without running into each other, but still, I went against my own principals to catch a wave. It was a good one, by the way, long and fun; but still, was it worth the cost of my integrity? And so, at the end of the session, I just felt kind of weird. Usually I have this huge high after a bunch of good waves; really, even one wave will keep me smiling for half the day. But after this surf, I just felt kind of...icky; like the way I surfed wasn't good for my soul. Maybe I'm just being overly self-critical, but I think that this is a good thing to be sensitive about -- the way you treat people, the habits you create and how both affect your inner-life, your soul.

Probably one of the reasons I am thinking this way is that I have been reading Judah Smith's How's Your Soul?, which explores how important our inner-self is to holistic health. The book has been great so far, and I highly recommend it, though I'm not finished yet. I guess the principals are working though, since I felt such a way after what otherwise was a huge session for me.

One of the waves I got, a mediocre one, was basically handed to me by this Australian guy. He was on the inside, but I was paddling anyway, just in case he didn't catch it. He was completely in position, but nodded to me before he took off, letting me have the wave. I jumped up and rode it a little -- it was a closeout I think. Later on, I saw him do the same thing for someone else. "You're a nice guy," I told him. "I would have probably just dropped in and tried to get ahead of him." He just smiled and said, "Oh."

Realizing how my own confession landed, I added, "Of course, that usually just makes me out to be a dick." He laughed, but it all has me asking myself: what kind of surfer do I want to be? The kind that paddles in front of people to get the most waves he can, vying for the "first" position (in the technical sense) with a sly shift, but essentially stealing waves? Or do I want to be the guy that goes without, letting others have the rides and picking up whatever I can when I am in the right spot? The latter is my usual M.O., and though I don't often come away with quite the quantity of rides, I usually have more fun. I sure don't want that to change.

When we got back I confessed my feelings to a friend, and added that I didn't understand how people can surf and act that way all the time and not feel bad about it. "If you do anything for long enough, you eventually become numb to your conscious," she replied. May you and I never get to this point. Always be sensitive to your soul and how your actions affect it, as well as other people. Because in the end, a few more rides, a little more money, having more control or getting there a little faster won't be worth it if your soul has been slowly dying along the way.

What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? (Mark 8:36-37)

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Legacy

I've been thinking more the last couple of years about a legacy, and leaving something that exists beyond myself. This has usually manifested itself in creative projects -- songs and stories I want to write that I hope future generations will enjoy. Naturally, this can be a daunting task, as so much content is created every day that really only the best of the best is ever remembered long term, right? And then I thought about the faraway future, hundreds and thousands of years from now...what art from today, this century, this millennia, will even be around anymore? Little to none. The thought brings the whole house of creation down in a lackluster smash of futility.

Is this desire to create for something beyond me even right? I'm sure it's natural, to want to be remembered for something you did, but is it biblical?
--

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:19-21)

--
This is our truest calling, right? And what are these treasures but doing good to others, showing the love of God to the world, preaching the gospel, healing, freeing people, making disciples. This is the best thing we can do in this life, and the only thing that really lasts. When this world has crumbled into nothing we can look around and see the folks we brought with us to heaven, not anything we bought or made here on earth. And so an other-centered life becomes our legacy.

But is there a marriage between the two? I feel a desire to be creative and believe it comes from God, acting like him, the ultimate Creator. What if what I create is centered around impacting others, building a foundation of art and truth for the next generation to carry on and continue? I can settle with that, and though I have some projects that are maybe more noble than others in this context, I'll just try to focus on the better ones and finish the selfish art when (if) I have time.

My most recent endeavor: getting this album mixed and mastered.

Still struggling with this concept, but feeling sort of settled, I carried on. But then God threw a curve ball at me by showing me that there is value in creating in this life. There were a few voices that lent itself to this shift in philosophy, though the strongest was a TV series titled American Epic (God speaks through things that aren't "Christian," by the way, in case perhaps you thought otherwise). It chronicles the invention of music recording equipment in the US, and how in the early 1900s, a few music producers traveled the country and held auditions, recording musical acts from all the over country that had never been heard outside of their own communities. The show is filled with artists upon artists that I had never heard of, or maybe just heard the influence of, that greatly shaped American music, and even my own tastes and creativity.

After watching all of this, and listening to a couple other voices, as I mentioned, I felt that God was telling me, "No Rick, what you make does matter." Some of these artists made a little money on the recordings (our typical barometer of success) and then died, never to know that their songs would be discovered for generations after, inspiring new music and new community. They all played a little part in their lifetimes, some having impacted their societies and cultures more than others, but their art lived on and people like me are still affected by it.

I highly recommend checking this out. It is streaming on Amazon now.

Of course this idea of creating for the eventual benefit of others is still central, because these recordings are influential mostly because the hearers are prompted to build community around the music, as well as inspired to create their own art afterwards. So I suppose the conclusion I am coming to (which is really no conclusion, but just a more complete view of the still-blooming image), is that it all matters: the art itself and the people who take it in.

I imagine that it is all one generation building upon the previous, and for the next; countless foundations fashioned on top of each other, branching off and inventing new structures, all leading up to...? God only knows what. And I am thankful that we serve a God who is creative, loves art (just look at nature, or read the poetry and songs in scripture), and seems to encourage his children to do the same.

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Sunset Rekindled

I used to really love surfing where Sunset Blvd and the Pacific Coast Highway meet. It's a great spot with easy breaking waves, free parking and is easily accessible from town (just a mile or two past Santa Monica). You can get that marvelous Malibu rock break without driving an hour to the pier, or beyond, making it one of my favorites in years past.

Though I have often championed the spot, until yesterday, I hadn't surfed there in about five years! The last time I was there was for a failed "sunrise at sunset" surf session we attempted. On that fateful morning, the waves lapped against the rocks at the monstrous height of about twelve inches, so we headed to Dockweiler instead. (I actually wrote about the whole thing in a book chronicling my seven years of falling in love with surfing in Los Angeles. I'm seeking representation/publishing, if you know anyone...wink, wink.) Yesterday I had a couple hours to try and catch a short-term Malibu swell we were getting from Hurricane Rosa, and so I stopped at the first place it looked good, which was Sunset & PCH.

It was like a romance rekindled. The waves were steadily climbing to head-high, and though there were about fifty people in the water, this spot breaks at roughly three locations, so folks can spread out. I guess a lot of beginners surf here too (as I did years ago), because I noticed several surfers weren't catching waves that they probably could have, which left plenty for me! The rides here are long and mellow; because of it, this is the break I learned how to pump a wave, as well as fell in love with the Wavestorm (there were a ton of these boards out yesterday, by the way). I caught several long rides and worked the waves a little, as well as my shoulders, as the paddle-out can tend to be far. It was quite fun, and a nice contrast to my recent hour-long drives up to north Malibu, where I usually come home with only a few waves under my belt (and sometimes fewer).

The whole thing was so wonderful that I felt a sudden urge to thank the ocean as I was navigating the rocky beach back to my car. I prayed a little prayer to God and watched the sunset plummet towards the horizon, casting a golden glow on the breaking waves. It was all very beautiful. But then I almost stepped on a few condom wrappers, some broken glass and several cigarette butts, which brought the whole reality of surfing in the big city back into its proper view. Even that was redeemed on the ride home, however, as I watched the city lights wake up while the sun set, tossing the last beams of the day high upon the mountains that backdrop Los Angeles in that orange-purple that only the West can provide. While driving, I dreamt of creative endeavors, writing this blog post, the future. I guess surfing really is inspiring, but that's for another blog post...

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