cold feet

That the consequences for my life, not just my career, could be unintended and permanent. That the pull this time will be so strong I won't want to come home, for anything, and maybe I won't.

And then I think about all the cool people I've met. Most of my, um, mentorship has been 5-10 years older and incrediblely talented. I generally didn't realize how good they were until, say, watching a perfect snap on a big shifty A-frame and later seeing some epic drop in from the North Shore or an indo barrel online. I was more focused on not bailing in embarrassing ways than fully appreciating Waves of the Day. They would watch me take sets on the head and keep paddling, and then give me some idea what the hell I was doing when I came casually gasping out back.

Not one ever treated me like I wouldn't be able to do it. Yet right now it feels impossible to do so many things. What did they know then that I can't get into my head now?

I'm looking out my window at bluster, never ending. The cold snap has been at least a month. In a movie, this would be a cabin and I would be boiling water over my wood stove and listening to hand cranked radio.