To Whom it May Concern
I’m probably supposed to feel strongly. Be a voice. Have answers. Use this outlet I’ve built for good. Present a persuasive opinion, tell you it’s going to be OK, rant about some relevant nuance of surf culture we can all apply to this, or maybe articulate a new theory of modern existence taken from the seemingly endless reading I’m doing during this pandemic. But so far, I have no words of wisdom. I am lost, too.
I can maybe share with you how I’ve fought off meltdowns and frustrations and thanked my lucky stars that not being able to go surf or drink a margarita at my favorite cantina were (for the most part) some of the sacrifices I had to make. But I don’t have any real theories for you, for us, for we.
It has been about two months since our lives were entangled in this virus vine, and although I’ve heard there is supposedly a doggy door at the end of the closeout, I’m trying to remember to enjoy the view from here, where we are, locked in an endless right now. No matter how difficult and excruciating it can be at times.
I only recently returned to the ocean to surf after more than a month of sitting out. It would be hard to explain to you here how thankful and full of joy I am for every goofy thing that goes into surfing. I always appreciated these things, but now I’m giddy about ‘em. From that first blissful duckdive to bellying in and all the crazy things that happen in between. The dolphins and seals and stingrays and birds and rip tides and pearling on the takeoff, onshore wind, kiteboarders, kickouts, cutbacks and that shitty thing that happens when boats go by and fuck up the waves for like 10 minutes. I love that stuff. All of it. Surfing is as ridiculous and beautiful as ever.
I will say though, there was some time when I was embarrassed to be a “surfer” watching some of us whine about closed beaches as the whole world took real authentic beatings. Death. Illness. Loss. Loneliness. And we couldn’t surf. Boofuckingwhoo. I was simultaneously pissed off at the audacity of the government closing the oceans and beaches the way they did — so I guess I am just as torn as anyone on all this. I simply return to my water cup, take a sip and appreciate. Then I switch to something stronger.
But it hasn’t been all bad days and egginess in “the quar.” I tended to some small plants at my house and they are thriving. I have read beautiful words, seen incredible films, cooked new dinners, listened to an excessive amount of Radiohead, got into yoga, walked my neighborhood, fell deeper in love, watched a kid learn to skateboard in the alley behind my house — progressing every day, fully locked into the basics — enjoyed nature at work in all its mysterious ways and noticed that there is a hell of a lot of leaf blowing and lawn mowing happening in my neighborhood at most hours of the weekdays — but I am not upset, I’m stoked they got work. I also did some of the other stuff people been doing: got organized, made playlists, FaceTime’d friends, played games, baked bread and did puzzles; drank too much and not at all and became an uncle for a second time. Oh, and I made something for you!
You may have noticed (or not) that we haven’t posted on this website lately because “content” became commodity the past few weeks and I just got sick of it. Every corporate CEO was filling inboxes with something or other. Discounts, savings and comfort while simultaneously getting you to apply or buy. Going Live on IG and Tik Tok took off and while there were some really cool content moments in there (Tanner Gudauskas’ Paradise Awareness Outreach Site, etc) I had to personally pump the brakes. Panic was everywhere. Some warranted, some not. But I wanted to use the opportunity to say fuck off to maintaining the “heartbeat” of content and work on something else. Something that would really stoke you out. Like a full-length surf film. From quarantine. And that’s what I did. It’ll be out really soon. Probably next week. So, cheers to that. We back. —Travis Ferré
Artwork above: Vija Celmins, Untitled, Ocean.
