Note: I call my friend Sarah “Sunshine” because she radiates. She’s warm and genuine in her life, and in her yoga practice. We’re excited to share this photo and quote from her.
“Being mindful is a special skill acquired through practice, just like riding a bike.”
To really tell this story, I must first tell you how the Green Meanie came to be. Edgar and I had been to Sayulita quite a few times, and each time paid a pretty steep amount to rent a car. You pay for the rental, but also for the Mexican insurance (check out VdM), since your insurance in the states is not accepted there. This addition doubles the cost of the rental. We talked about how it would be nice to have an older car there just to run around to restaurants, surf breaks and the airport… maybe something like a VW bug.
The idea sounded good, and it quickly moved from mere conversation to an internet search, and to a specific seller who appeared to have just the thing posted on Craig’s List. It was green, mean, a little beat up and a lot loud. It was a baja bug. Our new friend had been working on it with his grandfather, and had even taken a trip to Mexico in it already. It fit our needs and the price was right, so we made the deal. The seller even towed it to my house, since my stick shift driving now is weak at best, and at that time, was non-existent.
I kept the bug at my place for a while, and taught myself to drive it on weekends. I practiced taking it to the gas station, waving folks around me as I stalled at lights. Edgar came to visit and we added gas and water cans, a high-lift jack, shovel, pick ax and all-terrain tires. We ordered a few spare parts, and then a couple more, and stocked up on zip ties and black tape. A stall mat made for a handy back seat cover, and I got my first drilling experience putting in some second-hand head rests. We threw in some floor mats, ammo boxes for the glove compartments, and made sure we had a gallon of oil at the ready.
The Green Meanie was ready to go home.
Day One:
We left Sacramento with a back seat filled with tools and backpacks, and a roof rack topped off with surf boards. I thought people might give us a second glance, but we were surprised to see how much people were really digging it. We saw lots of thumbs up and plenty of cell phones out for photos as we rumbled down the highway.
Our first stop was Santa Cruz and the Ripcurl store. Edgar wanted to pick up a wet suit for the cold pacific water, and I found a shorty that would be perfect a little farther south. Our rig was drawing attention in the parking lot, so we figured we’d let people know where they could read more about our travels, and borrowed a sharpie from the shop. We wrote our web address on masking tape and slapped it to the back windows on both sides. Cheap, but effective. (We actually have TSY stickers, but I neglected to bring them along, so the tape had to do.)
We stopped every couple of hours for gas and to check the oil. The gas gauge was sort of a guide, but not an exact one. If it got to half, that was more like empty. Did I mention we had a big gas can on the side? We were prepared for long stretches without a gas station, and for pretty much daily guesses at how much we had left in the tank. For a trip like this, the proper mindset is key. Even though we had a mechanic go through it before we hit the road, (thanks FIDS of West Sac!) we understood there might be challenges, and we were ready to roll with them.
The first evening was a chilly one, and we threw on a few extra layers as we cruised into Ventura. We knocked out about 400 miles for our first day, and we were pretty pleased. We had hoped to find a restaurant open, but Saturday night was surprisingly sleepy, and we ended up ordering pizza in.
Day two began with a shocking theft, and moved on to a strange encounter with a surfer who sold coffee out of a VW bus. Stay tuned….
Utterance of the phrase “the wild” evokes images of deep, icy rivers and wind whipping you from all sides as you perch on top of a peak, hoping the next gust won’t boot you off a ledge. Feelings of fear, and passion, and the unknown. These thoughts aren’t invalid, but are a little too Jack London for our reality. Places remaining truly untamed still exist, but the truth of the matter is that humans live tame lives. Yes, there still are wild people that live wild lives, driven by a deeper desire to feel the feral world, but this quality isn’t unique.
Some might invalidate their own wild side because they don’t live the mountain man cliché we all secretly yearn, and that invalidation is a true tragedy. The planet on which we live isn’t defined by the concrete sprawls some now navigate, nor the pockets of pristine wilderness few will ever see. Our world is defined by the blades of grass, pushing up through the sidewalk cracks, a sometimes futile reminder of the omnipotence of the natural world.
I’m one of the lucky ones in this equation; my home happens to be situated in a valley cradled between seven visible mountain ranges. My winters are filled with bitter nights and stars as sharp as shards of glass. My spring is filled by the two-tone comfort of the black- capped chickadee’s call. In 15 minutes, I can find myself sprawled out on any number of foothills, able to dig my toes into dirt and feel fresh air filling my lungs. Nature is truly omnipresent for my lifestyle, but unfortunately civilization hasn’t found a balance. The human values of progress conflict with the infinite resilience and sustainability of the natural world. Despite the clash, the cause of balance isn’t lost. Hubs of urban life as well as isolated towns can both begin a shift of mindset, and the first step is as easy as recognizing. Recognizing that the wild lies dormant in each of us. Nature doesn’t have to be grand or monumental, and that’s the beauty. I urge you all to breathe a little deeper and look a little closer because the wild we desire remains everywhere; our job is simply to seek it out.
-CK
Note: Irene is a good friend who has an incredible yoga practice. Her transitions are so smooth and her strength so solid, we had to ask her to be featured on our site. Luckily, she agreed. Here’s a snippet of a recent practice in a park, and a quote from Irene.
Irene has been practicing yoga for nine years, and recently completed 200 hour RYT training.
“I believe yoga is a form of expression. I learn something new about myself every time I practice.”
Every once in a while, I’ll mention surfing in conversation and someone will say, “Oh! Do you surf?”
And I hesitate.
You could say that I surf, or you could say that every once in a while I take a board out into the ocean and try not to drown. My relationship with surfing is tentative, which one could accurately argue is not the way to surf at all. But I’ve come to believe that it is wise to approach the ocean with caution. Is it okay?… Is now a good time?… I could come back later, say… when you’ve calmed down a bit…
My first surf adventure began with an offhand comment from a coworker in Atlanta. I was planning my next vacation, and he recommended a surf school in Costa Rica. Warm sunshine, warm water, and a good way to burn off any extra vacation calories. I was in.
I got into my first lesson and learned how to catch white water. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Not too bad. I had balance and body awareness, and thanks to years of gym-going, a pretty easy time paddling and pushing up. The pop up was not the problem. The ocean was the problem.
When my instructor decided it was time for me to surf green water, I felt like I would never get past the break. Even with a decent amount of time between periods, I would always seem to meet the next set coming in, and the next set didn’t like me much. “Get out!” it yelled at me with each wave. I’d get knocked off my board, knocked completely upside down, sideways, take the tumbling washing machine of the current and then pop up, about 20 feet from where I began. “A little farther,” the instructor would yell, from his super cool position kneeling on his board and cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Okay. Yeah. A little farther.
I eventually would make it out past the break, exhausted and coughing up the half of the ocean I’d swallowed. The last thing I’d want to do is catch the next wave headed in the other direction. Even now, I never do. To me, just getting that far is something to celebrate, and deserves a moment to take in. Breathe. Relax. I let my legs dangle in the water and the sun warm my shoulders, and I watch the others paddle into the force that always seem to scare me and beckon to me at the same time. I wait for the burning in my nose and my shoulders to subside, and when I see a little bump come my way I think… maybe this one. I paddle hard… wait for the ocean to sneak under me and the roar of the wave to carry me… it’s never that I’m besting it, or even riding it… it’s more that we have a tentative agreement. The ocean allows me to come in and stay awhile, and I am grateful.
Note: Contributor CK sent us this reflection upon her mornings in Sayulita. If you’re not familiar with this creative little (for now) surf spot in Nayarit, Mexico, you can read more about it here.
The collection of noises that follow the arrival of the sun are too many to count. The birds provide the background upon which all other chatter occurs. Chickens crowing, various indigenous birds chattering, warbling, cawing….
The insects also contribute, providing a consistent hum, carrying about their daily activities despite circumstance. The stream gurgles to my right, occasionally interrupted by a creature crossing its path and stalling the flow.
At this time in the day, the noises from human development are slowly beginning their crescendo. Construction picks up as countless buildings are constructed. Commuters, like the insects, build up a hum of traffic, also bound to continue their days despite circumstances.
In the soft illuminating light, the voice of the people eases into the symphony of morning noise as the day begins.
-CK
To consume, or create, that is the question?
Whether nobler to think, and work, w/end in mind,
Or lay and wait while others decide.
The interesting bit about questions like these, is they are being asked less frequently.
I recently took on a very interesting project. I wanted a fish board, and I wanted to make it my own, so I found an excellent shaper and we started the process. It was an interesting and very rewarding journey.
Surfboard shapers are interesting cats, and collaborating w/ them is a fun experience. These folks are truly artists, wrapped w/ eccentric notions of crafting vessels ridden to a realm that comes and goes one time. They understand, first hand, this powerful experience and the importance of shaping the ships that can propel surfers and evoke the fleeting feelings derived from spending seconds in a time and space that will never exist again. These people are something between foam alchemists and boat builders, and they are shamens to their tribes, feared and revered.
Needless to say, I approached my shaper w/the notion of a board, some humility, and some good old fashioned green backs. Turns out, this method of motion is mostly successful… I mean it. (I couldn’t resist one more “m”.) Anyway, there I was standing in a space I had never been, trying to express sentiment, action, and motion that has, at best, a very crude language. We began.
I brought three boards that I enjoyed riding, to the mystic. We talked of local weather, and different breaks, paddling, hydrodynamics, eras of art, clean lines, different philosophies of different things, sustainability and even lightly dabbled in politics. One of the best pieces I took from the talk was, he wanted to build the board I needed not the board he wanted for me. That is really what we need from our shamen. We need them to help us w/what we need, not w/what they want us to have. Accepting what they want us to have is not sustainable, and will not take us to these beautiful but fleeting places consistently.
After our chat, I started considering the details of what I wanted, and even put a crude sketch together to discuss the art. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Being easily entertained, keeps one content. We roughed out the foam blank, decided on retro twin fins, and I left the Master of the craft to do just that, craft.
Time rolled by, as it has, and will. I waited….
Then the call came, and I went. We met at his shaping room, and I realized we had brought notion to life. The unreal was birthed into reality, and a surfboard was born, Bluefish. I was very happy w/ the creation on many levels, and happier still when I caught the first mushy undersized wave on this artwork. It was fantastic. It was skatey, fast, and held a line. We did it.
I do appreciate repurposing, well, most everything, but creation has its place. It should be considered, especially now, in this age of mass production where unfaced capitalists nearly force plastic garbage, disguised as something fun or useful, into our homes and lives only to be put into the trash pile (best case) soon after it was purchased. They happily take the proceeds from the consumer, slightly pay the producer, enlist advertisers to continue ensnaring us, and use the net proceeds to experience the finer things in life. We, collectively, should recognize this and act. We deserve better.
Create!
Build your own! My own what? Build your own whatever you cans.
Edgar~
If you’re a yogi, have yogis in your life, or even just follow some on social media, you’ve probably seen them get into postures in the strangest places. They might even use a hashtag like #yogaeverywhere or #yogaoutside and to a non-yogi it might seem a little narcissistic… or just silly. I’m sure, depending on the yogi, it can be both, but I think it’s sometimes something else.
I was at a park today and it was filled with interesting architecture and sculptures and I must admit, I thought, “This would be a great place to do yoga!” I saw all these lines and shapes and I was thinking about which poses would go with them, or contrast with them in a visually interesting way. Yoga is one of the ways I try to free up my creative side, and sometimes a doorway or a statue (or an ice castle!) just looks like the perfect place to practice. I guess it’s like wanting to paint there, or sing there, or write….
So the next time you see an interesting space, and you get the urge to launch into a handstand or ease into wheel, go for it. And if you take a picture, share it with us. We’ll understand.
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