Step one

It’s funny how things in life unfold. Things that seem inconsequential at the time, can sometimes become grand later on. Everything is an opportunity; like forked branches on a tree, we make a decision to do one thing and it takes us down a particular path, we make a decision to do another and it takes us down a different one. Not making decisions has the same effect, but I prefer to exercise my freedom of choice and leave the jellyfishing to others.

A couple of months ago my friend L sent me an invitation to join Facebook, and though at the time I didn’t think much of it and simply joined because she’d invited me to, somewhere in the back of my mind I think I anticipated its potential. The truth is, I’ve always found social networking sites interesting– hell, I’m down with anything that can facilitate communication and bring people together — but for some reason I never felt compelled to join myself. But since you never know where seemingly inconsequential choices will take you, it’s good to be open to anything.

Step Two

For the uninitiated, social networking sites basically function on a couple of different levels and Facebook is no exception. First, you have individuals interacting with each other through personal pages which represent who they are and what they’re all about — their education, occupation, photos, musical tastes, etc.. And second, you have something called “groups” which is pretty much as it sounds — a place where special interests can establish communities and distribute information.

Shortly after joining Facebook, I joined the “Life Rolls On” group (you’ve probably seen their link under the “Life Aquatic” section to the left) and began receiving updates and information from them and their underwritten program “They Will Surf Again”.

Having caught my attention several years ago when I read about one of their events in Newport Beach, “They Will Surf Again”, an organization that works to get disabled people surfing, sparked my imagination from the get go. Unfortunately for me, I live in Northern California and with my schedule (and ass), participation was never very realistic.

Nevertheless, sometime around the end of June an announcement was posted on Facebook that “They Will Surf Again” would be holding one of their events in LA, and even though I knew it wasn’t something I’d be able to make — our Film Festival was that same weekend — it still pricked up my ears and got me thinking about the possibilities.

I knew I’d be heading down to Southern California in August or September anyway to pick up some stuff I had in storage, so I thought why not check and see if there’d be an event happening while I was in the area. Sure enough, there was, and the rest — as they say — is history.

Step three

And there you have it; because of a decision to click “join” on a popular social networking site, this coming Saturday I’ll be putting on a wetsuit and surfing again for the first time since my injury over 20 years ago.

Am I stoked? Ha! What do you think?

Sometime the pieces just all fall together.

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After what seemed like an eternal amount of time, I finally made it back out onto the water and did a little sailing. However, “little sailing” couldn’t be less accurate, this was big sailing on a big boat — an afternoon spent on the Alma, a 59 foot two masted, flat bottomed scow built in 1891 that’s now part of the National Maritime Museum of San Francisco. It’s an impressive craft with a storied history, accurately restored right down to the vermin below deck. Organized by the folks at BAADS with the participation of the National Parks Service, it was a rare opportunity to sail on something straight out of our nautical past.

When I got to Pier 40 that morning the weather was cold and gray — sadly typical for July in San Francisco — and I was wondering whether I’d made an appropriate clothing decision by wearing thin tear-away sweats, a short sleeve T-shirt and a hoodie. But according to my now-looked-upon-with-skepticism weather widget, the clouds were supposed to burn off and it was going to be a 70° day. I didn’t have anything else in the mix, save my baseball cap and sunglasses, so if my widget was correct then I was going to be comfortable, and if not, well, then I was probably going to be a little cold. Either way I was locked in for three or four hours.

By the time the ship set its sails and we were out from under the Bay Bridge, it was clear my clothing decision was a bad one. And by the time we sailed past the Embarcadero and were out in front of the Golding Gate, I realized I was grossly underdressed. Those around me had clearly gotten information I hadn’t — aside from the obvious fact it was mid-summer on the San Francisco Bay — and apparently had weather widgets that looked out for them and didn’t have a sadistic streak. Because their clothing decisions seemed to be geared more towards the Arctic conditions we were sailing in, rather than my “I’m going to shoot some hoops with Jimmy Buffett down in the Keys” attire.

Still, I didn’t complain or let it be known I was freezing my ass off. We were heading to Angel Island, so by that point in the journey it was looking like an exercise in acceptance more than anything else. The thing is — and Buddhists frame this around the idea of the “second dart” — the cold was inevitable, but it was up to me whether or not I wanted to suffer. In this, the “first dart” is the event beyond your control i.e. getting shot with a dart (or in this case being cold), and the “second dart” is your dwelling upon the pain i.e. shooting yourself again in addition to what came before. I didn’t see any point in making myself more uncomfortable than I had to, so it was pretty cool to see how well I could keep my mind focused on other things.

Nevertheless, so you understand where I’m coming from and just how cold I was — and because it’s all behind me now — let me just say I’ve never been that cold in my life. Seriously, this was something extraordinary, and I’ve surfed in some really cold water with less than adequate wetsuits, skied in blizzard like conditions with frozen solid jeans and sat through summer concerts at the Greek theater here in Berkeley. So when it comes to cold, I think I have a pretty good handle on what I’m talking about.

But the difficulty with being cold now — as a quadriplegic — is twofold: to begin with, I’m a very skinny guy, I’ve got no fat on me to speak of — no blubber. And second, and more importantly, because I’m unable to move any muscles below my level of injury, my circulation sucks. The former of these two functions as a barrier/insulator and the latter functions as a regulator. The upshot being, if I get extremely cold it’s going to take me hours to get warm again, and that’s exactly what happened after this trip.

But I don’t want to give you the impression this trip was solely an exercise in Buddhist tolerance techniques — though that’s certainly one of the more useful things I took away from it (aside from not foolishly trusting my voodoo weather widget, or better still, knowing where and when I’m sailing) — because at the heart of the trip, it was about getting back out on the water after being in bed for a week and a half with the pressure sore, and spending time with a bunch of really cool folks (and dogs) on a truly unique boat.

It’s not exactly my kind of sailing — I prefer being closer to the water, on a heel, feeling the speed of the craft and every bump of the waves — but in the end, for me at least, none of that stuff really matters if you’re not in good company. And like I said, this trip had good company in spades.

Etc.

One of the great things about sailing here in San Francisco is being so close to such dynamic structures. Sailing under either of our bridges — the Bay Bridge or the Golding Gate — is an awe-inspiring experience. The vantage point at sea level of such massive engineering wonders is a perspective I love.

Currently, they’re in the process of building a new Bay Bridge that will replace the not-so-earthquake-safe old one and looking at these two bridges side-by-side is very interesting. The old one (current) — gray, boxy, industrial — is a steel suspension bridge that looks very much of its time, while the new one –a sleek, curved concrete behemoth — seems like something out of the future. Both of these are beautiful in their own right, but side-by-side they are a true architectural treat.

I think the photos below illustrate a little of what I’m talking about. But like all the great wonders of the world, pictures ultimately can’t do it justice. You really must be there to appreciate the scale.

Photos by Steve Dexter.