7am, in the water at Zuma, foggy like always before noon on a summer day, and the dolphins came inside the break, playing in the waves in water that was only up to my chest, closer to the shore than we were. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was having to keep an eye on the time so I could make it back to town and into work by 10am.
It’s really easy to get wrapped up in existential crises and angst. It’s considered hip to be a caustic sort inured to suffering or an artistic sort who suffers because, ya’know, that’s what you do if you are an artist, ’cause no one appreciates your genius. Or something. But the dolphins were playing in the same waves I was this morning, only a few feet away, and when that happens I realize that anything I’m suffering from is either imaginary or due to a lack of gratitude, and I don’t really have a fucking thing to complain about.
