Monday, August 4th 2025 - 9:11am

Andy and I have been surfing a lot more lately. At least more this year compared to last. We surfed Doheny last Friday and had a blast. The wave was super weird; I didn’t remember it being like that, but then again, the last time–and first time–I surfed there was ages ago with Dylan and Emma. It was a very slow wave and continued to move towards shore without breaking until it crashed up on the lip of rocks about five feet from the receding edge of the water.

Once while we were out, a couple set waves came in, not too big but still, they were set waves, and I paddled frantically to get over them. I did this once or twice and then for some reason, probably because of the tide and how slowly the waves were breaking that day, an idea popped into my mind: “we’ll get there eventually.” I can talk about it more later but all the thinking I’ve been doing on mortality kind of sprung up from my subconscious in this moment I feel like. Yes, I wasn’t talking metaphorically in that exact moment, I was focused on the concrete task of surfing, but later, as I reflected on it, it became more and more abstract and fit neatly into the thoughts that have surrounded the questions The Seventh Seal highlighted. Loved that movie by the way. So there I was, paddling over the surf sets, and I had those words “we’ll get there eventually” pop into my head. I immediately tried to slow down and take calculated strokes instead of beating at the water out of fear. After the set, I turned to Andy and told him what I had just realized a few moments before. He thought it was funny in a minor way, which it was minorly funny. We continued surfing. 

After a lull and a certain amount of time sitting there, idly chatting in the water, a monster set of probably 8-10 waves came in. They weren’t huge in size, maybe 4ft? But there were just so many of them. Wave after wave. And we were caught on the inside. We started to duck dive the first couple, but after the 5th or 6th wave, Andy was ditching his board and I was trying with all my strength to hold onto mine. 

At some point halfway through the onslaught, we pop up from a wave and lo and behold; there’s another one not too far off, coming towards us. I struggled back on my board and then gave a sideways glance at Andy. I don’t remember what I said exactly, but it was some version along the lines of my original thought: “Remember what I said? We’ll get there when we get there.”

We started busting up laughing. Partially from my comment, partially from the absurdity of our situation, a little bit from the slight fatigue setting in, and a lot from the already existing laughter in the air. And so, “we’ll get there eventually” morphed into “we’ll get there when we get there.” 

        Just like the idea and concept behind “we’ll get there when we get there” helped me to better handle myself in the water and summit each wave with greater ease because I slowed down and focused on the little things instead of frantically rushing, I feel like it could also be directly applied to other areas in my life for the same benefit. Instead of worrying about the end goal and rushing the now to get to the future, I can take my time in the now and live fully present. Because the now of yesterday and the now of tomorrow is the same as the now of today except that they don’t exist. The only now that actually exists is NOW. Like the jazz notes in Nausea, they exist in the now, now, now! And then they are gone. That’s what gives the notes their beauty, their meaning: this fleeting existence in the now of today that will never be anything else, anywhere else, at any other time, besides now.