Don't bring it in the water.
The black Beemer wagon screeched into the parking spot on the cliffs. A man with short brown hair, designer sunglasses and a wellgroomed stubblebeard hung up his phone, hopped out of the car and raced no one but himself to get suited up and down to the water. It is Saturday morning and he is ready to fight. The boxing bell rings. Without hesitation or thought, he charged the water and paddled out with fierceness splashing from him. He pushed into the very center of the line up (an action that did not go unnoticed) and wasted no time and jerks his custom board back around for the set. With an intense glare and defensive stance, he pushed himself into the wave and rushed back and fourth, forceing his will to push the wave as far as he could ride it. He repeated this until everyone in the water had caught no waves, only his infectious, competitive disposition that he was not even aware of. Back and fourth, mindlessly he circles with such drive going in all and no direction.
I could hardly help notice the intense hunger of the animal, alien to the sea. He treated the wave as a commodity and people as a mere obstacle. His whole word seemed "out of sight, out of mind," not even knowing what he was craving so badly. It seems that those in the business realm would be drawn into the ocean as a place of peace away from the land of materialism, but this man had torn the line between his two worlds. There is so much contentment to gain in the ocean, enough to carry throughout the week into any workplace but selfish consumerism does not belong in the water much like an empty, floating plastic bag. Surfing is not the most bang for your buck, buy one get one free, shipped from China, trademarked, opportunity to sue, or about the most you can get for the least you can give.
The man that day walked to his car driping and as anxious as he had been when he arrived.
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