A Small Miracle

I left the house a little before 10:45 this morning. It’s a mild and overcast morning here and it doesn’t look as though that is going to change any time soon today. I can see some ripple on the water through the web cams and I figure I’d better get going now before the wind picks up more - not that it’s forecasted to get particularly windy but it’s likely not going to get any better.

All in all it is pleasant out and when I get to the beach the water seems maybe a bit smoother than it looked online. It’s peaceful here. I can hear bird song in the air as I walk down the stairs. I’m warm enough now but the thought of getting in the water fills me with dread but it’s a dread that I very much take with a grain of salt. My mind just can’t fathom getting in the water being anything less than terrible. However I know from experience and also from watching the water temps that it’s most likely going to be more than fine. I watch these contradictory thoughts with curiosity and also like a sort of familiar television show.

I know it’s going to be enjoyable at a kind of faith level, but can’t understand the physical logistics of how that can possibly be true, but I know it is true. The upside of all of this is that I carry my dread with no stress or agitation. It’s just an object of interest. “Oh look, I’m thinking that getting into the water will be agonizing. Hmm…that’s interesting and I’m so glad it’s not true.”

It’s low tide and I put my feet in the water and already I’m starting to figure out how all of this is going to work. The water is cool but lacks any kind of a bite. I at least want it to be cold enough to keep me awake. I have not gotten an abundance of sleep the past couple days and have struggled with my meetings earlier this morning. Hopefully this will give me the jolt I need.

I walk out into the water and there is hardly any surf today. I make it out to chest deep water and hoping for something resembling a wave to help me get wet but it looks like I’m gonna have to fall in on my own volition. I do this. It’s a little cold but in seconds, I’m all good. It’s probably about 62/63 and it doesn’t feel bad at all. What was previously unimaginable has transpired. A small miracle that manages to repeat itself on every swim. My body just seems to flip a switch (a good one) and my mind follows along.

I head south and move at what feels like a pretty good pace toward the Dana Point Headlands. I’m moving with the current. The water is not clear but it is a lovely light blue. I swim through tentacles of kelp and stare at the grey shore and houses above. When I arrive at the end I watch the water rise and fall and expose the large rocks here like a brief inhale and then they are covered again in the exhale. Again and again this repeats. There are a couple small flocks of pelicans flying just above the bluff. I psychically beckon them to come close but I must be transmitting on the wrong frequency.

I head back north and enjoy watching the clouds along the horizon. Even though it is grey, there is enough light and definition to the clouds to make them stand out from the water. They look billowy and dense and liquid. They look like you could walk, or fly, right up to them and sweep your hands or feet across them and splash the air beside them.

Once I reach the northern quarter of the swim, the kelp gets down right thick. I have to swim and use both hands to press down on the floating vines to push my body over them. The surface of the water is littered with their exposed leaves. At one point I float while my body is completely supported by their buoyancy.

There are small clusters of clouds that coalesce just above Salt Creek and the Ritz and below the soft blanket that extends over Laguna and out to San Pedro.

As I swim back to my starting point, I spot a lobster tail shell floating on the water. I verify that it is just the shell and that no other biological remains are clinging to it. I swim in and the floor gets closer and closer and a small wave breaks almost on top of me. I wait for another one to come but there doesn’t seem to be anything coming and I don’t have all day.

I head to the stairs and walk up to my car. Still no sign of sun anywhere. That’s quite alright. None needed.