Speaking of Joy…
So I’ve had the last two weeks off of work…I go back to school tomorrow. School holidays happen for two weeks each term here in New Zealand, so that means as soon as the pressure is built up to the point where you feel truly frazzled, you get a couple of weeks’ reprieve to reset and rejuvenate. It’s pretty rad. This time I was committed to cultivating joy. I didn’t have any obligations, except play practice, which is three times a week, but that’s totally fun. I picked it, you know? Plus, I have a minor character to play (though all characters are on stage for pretty much the whole of this one act play by Bertolt Brecht). It’s been a great first-time-acting kind of role, and I’m super excited about our upcoming shows. I figure, I’m 49 years old for a couple more months…might as well challenge myself and farewell my forties with a bang!
It’s also been beautiful weather. While most of my summer holidays were gray and a bit chilly, there have been mostly bluebird days this time. It feels a lot like October in Santa Cruz, where the tourists are gone and all that remains are glorious, warm days with a hint of autumn in the air. For these two weeks, I have spent as many hours as I could in the ocean. Learning to wing foil with Dwaine (he has the fantasy that we’ll do it side by side one day, so I try, but I haven’t gotten up on foil yet) and surfing with my sons. Yesterday was a big one. Rakai, his partner Angelina, his buddy Tom, and I piled into Rakai’s car and headed out to a semi-secret surf spot known both for its peeling, hollow waves, a little bit heavier than many of the breaks in Dunedin, and for its healthy population of territorial sea lions.
To start, it’s an arduous trek down a very steep (like nearly vertical) hill from the place you leave your car. This trek involves climbing under or over several electric fences, rambling through a large grove of macrocarpa tress, slipping and sliding down grassy, muddy, and sandy slopes, all with a view that pretty much takes your breath away and is punctuated by finally emerging at the top of a small rise that brings into view the swell lines roping into the aquamarine cove. Of course my Olympic athlete son, his collegiate athlete girlfriend, and their similarly freakishly fit friend wanted to run all the way down. By the time we hit the long grasses at the edge of the beach, my legs were like jelly. The whole way down I kept thinking, “I’m too old for this.” I was enjoying it, yes, but also wondering if at some point my legs might give out. I was also feeling a little flattered that none of my three companions ever considered that this might be a bit much for me. The last bit is a paddle across a fairly swiftly moving river to reach the actual beach. By this time the cool water felt lovely, and we paddled along in silence, taking in the million dazzling shades of blue and green that comprised the scene.
The session was divine. Smaller than we thought it would be, but still fun, and as we surfed, the fog and rain that had enveloped us on our way down lifted away and left us basking in the golden light of the day. The cove felt like a cradle, a magical mist sort of hovering in pockets, and the sunshine glistening over everything like a promise. The water itself was an aquamarine that is uniquely Aotearoa. The colour reminds me a little of the Rhone River in Switzerland with its milky blue-green that is other-worldly to say the least. And then our sea lion arrived. At first we weren’t alarmed. We were well versed in how to handle these young, zealous sea lions. Don’t make eye contact with them—they’re like dogs. If you engage them, they’ll feel encouraged and continue to approach you. Don’t talk to them or say anything. Keep doing your thing—paddle into position and take your waves. Try not to flinch if they come near.
Angelina was the first to see it. She made a little yelping noise and then clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide above her hand, and we knew we had company. This was a fairly young sea lion but by no means small. It started by swimming all around us—fast, coming quite near each of us, surfacing and breaching the water at intervals. We could see it clearly as it swam beneath us, coming quite close. It was difficult to focus on the waves with such a large animal showing such keen interest in us. With each pass it was getting closer and closer to us, until finally it was actually hitting our feet and surfacing within arm’s reach of us. When it surfaced right next to me with its mouth wide open and flapping its fins as if it would fight me, I decided it was perhaps less well-intentioned than I had thought. “Come closer to us, Mama,” Rakai said from the little huddle that was him, Angelina, and Tom. I quickly paddled into their group, but the proximity did not stop the sea lion from becoming even more aggressive. At this point, it made a beeline for Tom and lunged out of the water to mouth the nose of his board.
“Okay, that’s it,” I said.
“Yeah, time to go,” Rakai agreed, and we all started paddling toward shore.
“Just everybody catch this wave on your belly,” I said, as we all paddled in a cluster, the sea lion hot on Rakai and Angelina’s trail. It was alternately diving into the tangle of their leashes and then seeming to attempt to climb up onto Angelina’s feet, all with its mouth wide open. Somehow only Rakai caught the wave fully; I was next behind him, and then Angelina and Tom were well back, having just missed it. The sea lion stayed with Rakai, riding the wave alongside him. When Rakai stood in the shallows, it challenged him, lunging at him with this teeth bared. The rest of us kept paddling to come up beside them, and Rakai lifted his board into the air to place it between him and the aggro sea lion. Once all of us were together, we began struggling through the shallows, which are expansive in this spot, because of the river mouth. With the sea lion chasing us, our fast walk became a sprint, and I manoeuvred (to what end I have no idea) to place myself between Angelina and the sea lion as we ran. With my legs burning, completely winded, it occurred to me again, “I’m nearly 50 years old…what if I just can’t anymore? What if I stop?”
Just as I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t do it anymore, another sea lion, this one much bigger, appeared out of nowhere, just off to my left. “Fuck!” My voice full of breath. In my heart I think I thought it was the end. I mean, I don’t know what I really thought would happen. To be mauled to death by two enormous sea lions is improbable. And yet the advance of the original sea lion with its mouth wide open, the water swelling like a wave around what I can only describe as its shoulders as it propelled itself after us at great speed, made it seem more than likely. And then it all stopped. Immediately. As if someone had flipped a switch, when the sea lions came into contact with one another, they forgot us instantly. It was like we weren’t even there anymore. I thought of the dog Doug in the movie Up. “Squirrel!”
Just like that, we could stop our mad sprint and catch our breath, though of course we kept going. When we had finally reached the shore, we all looked back and could see the two of those magnificent, slick beasts frolicking and riding the waves that were beginning to shape up beautifully. The tide was changing, and we knew that the surf was just going to get better and better, but none of us had the heart to face those sea lions again.Wistfully we bid farewell to a gorgeous morning and to a delicious-looking lineup.
I’d like to say that it ended there, but no. These three charged up that hill so fast I thought I would die. I was huffing and puffing behind them, marvelling at their ability to make this trek while maintaining a conversation. I could barely breathe! My legs felt like they were full of the sand that slipped beneath my feet as I climbed in my 5 millimetre wetsuit, and I wondered again what would happen if I just stopped. I’m telling you, it was too much. I feel quite fit, really…especially for a woman of my age. But this day, I wondered if I might simply collapse and kind of wished I could.
Eventually we made it to the top. I’m guessing my scramble beneath the last electric fence was significantly less graceful this time around, but nobody said anything as they waited and watched. Back in the car I drank almost an entire litre of water at one go, and I’d never been so happy to be back in my clothes and sitting inside of Rakai’s car. I doled out the little snacks I had thought to pack—oaty cake bars and trail mix with chocolate—and we were happy. The drive back was epic, our little car slinking along the ridge of the Otago Peninsula and dropping down onto the harbour side with the sun warming our faces and drying the rain-soaked land. I had a coffee date with a paddling friend still ahead of me, plus picking up Taiaroa from work, making a meal for my family, and then evening play practice. Life felt perfect. Full of joy.
I have a house full of loved ones. There is joy here. And light. I grow old, a little bit at a time, and it is good. I keep surfing and playing and pushing my limits because I can. And I keep being the mother of these boys who fill my cup to overflowing. Seeing them happy…growing and living and loving—it makes me happier than I could ever have imagined I could be. And Dwaine. My rock. I am unspeakably grateful.
I gush, I know. But I really am grateful. Not only for all of these blessings but also for the wherewithal to turn the rest off for a bit. It’s out there, floating on the airwaves and the Internet. The truth of the world right now. The suffering. But I am allowed to retreat from it sometimes and just be. It is a privilege, I know, but I can give myself over to it. Not forever but for now. For my mental health. And for my loved ones. There is a way to cultivate joy even in these times. It has to do with nature and with family. It has to do with giving oneself permission, letting go of guilt, which actually serves no purpose at all. It has to do with light.
