Scott Marks 4:26 p.m., May 21
Awakening to football every sunday has become a customary event that disguises the fact that Monday is looming in the background. As if football doesn't make me happy enough, this October Sunday presented the opportunity to catch some real rays.
"I must make it to the beach today," I thought to myself, presumptially.
Within minutes I noticed the Redhead slipping on her bathing suit, and knew that we were on the same page. A Sunday characteristic of July, the beach, a good book, and a spicy companion. There is something idealogically San Diegan about that.
The waves were like something out of a story written to appeal to an Old Salt. While not quite suitable for surfing, the sheer magnitude of each momentous crash left most beachgoers in awe. I couldn't help but notice an unusually high number of people meditating in various states of reflection. From the pre-teen children of a large tourist family dancing and laughing at the edge of the tide to the lone surfer dangerously close to the jetty, there was considerably high energy at the beach this day despite the mere handful of people enjoying the occasion.
I had to stop reading my book, because it was distracting. I can only learn so much about how misled Americans are in search of answering the "Omnivore's Dilemma", while so much is going on just above the pages.
"Its easy to forget how f---ked up everything really is on a day like this," I blurted out to my unsuspecting, sun-drenched girlfriend.
Waves like this can humble just about anyone. When instability is the norm, we can rely only on talking heads and a lack of trust. But every day, like clockwork, the sun comes up, and goes down; the tide comes in, and goes out. It is as if the sun and the ocean have no idea that the inhabitants of earth have routines completely unrelated to their own.
There is nothing more real than to come to an understanding with nature. At least on this wonderfully unpredictably summerly October Sunday, I was able to take a minute and appreciate just that.