Jimmy felt alive like never before. His life had suddenly added a new dimension to his experience. He felt joy through every cell. He felt like his life out here was going to be okay.
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“That was totally awesome! Let’s go again!”
“Come on,” Matt said, “Let’s go eat. I know a great surf and turf place not far from here with killer lobster as cheap as McDonald’s.”
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The next instant was pure chaos as the wave threw him from his board and plunged him into the churning whitewater. His lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, as he waited for the washing machine effect to slow enough to swim for the surface.
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Jimmy felt the joy start in his soul and burst through him like an exploding star: “Whoo-hoo!” He stretched his arms across the inside of the barrel and stood up in triumph: “Whoo … mhgurf!”
He had stuck his head straight through the top of the wave.
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Time went from slo-mo to a standstill to timeless. In front of him were the glittering diamonds of the day’s last bit of sun reflecting off the water. The water all around him sounded like a freight train—yet, there was a cacophony of music brought forth inside the vibrations like a rejoicing.
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Jimmy gathered every cell of courage he had and paddled into the oncoming wave.
He jumped to his feet, rode down the steep face of the wave, and turned into the pocket, crouching purposefully as a thick lip of water covered the sky and enclosed him inside the barrel.
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Matt took one of the first of the big set waves and was instantly engulfed in a fast-moving barrel. Jimmy turned to prepare for the ride, primal fear screaming at his body to stop.
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“Here it comes, man!” Matt shouted.
“I see it, I see it!” Each of them paddled furiously to escape being caught on the inside of the break.
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“Come on, I need some backup. I’ve got to at least try to catch one. Isn’t that what we came for?”
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“Forget it, man. I’m wiped. You know you are going to get out there and the tide will change them anyway.”
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Then the waves changed again—low tide was at its apex, and the on-shore wind strengthened. There in the fading light of the afternoon was the curl of a barrel, wave after wave or barrels.
“Let’s go back out, dude,” Jimmy said. “Look,” he said, and pointed to the break.
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Jimmy stood next to the VW bus and looked out at the waves. He had heard that voice out there, too.
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𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵. 𝘉𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦.
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A big part of him (the part that ran his life) told him to pack it up and go home where it was familiar. At least at home he had family and support, and he could figure things out. But if he was quiet and still for a moment, he could hear a little voice inside talking, too.
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It went deeper than just missing a barrel, it reached deep down to something about his life overall. It made him feel lost and alone on his own in SD—no family, no love, no career future—not even satisfying surf.
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Somehow, it was not enough. They silently walked to the VW bus. Jimmy wrestled with his feelings—it had been a great time in the water, and Baja was an adventure of rural coastal roads and new surf spots, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of failure.
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Despite the solid session, it felt like a futile search for the Holy Grail—good waves but no barrels, no perfect wave.
“Damn, Jimmy. I was starting to freak out,” Matt replied, waiting on the beach.
“Did you catch a barrel?” Jimmy asked.
“No barrels but solid waves, I guess,” answered Matt.
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Scanning for Matt, Jimmy began to walk back to find his friend.
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Matt was not in sight, and worse, Jimmy couldn’t see the VW bus. He had drifted south with the current. He thought of surfing back, but it would take too long. He surfed toward the shore, then walked through the water to reach the beach.
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Eventually, Jimmy’s body began to tire, and he felt the session had reached its natural end. Thirsty and hungry, he looked around for Matt.
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