When I was in the second grade I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. It was during a family trip to Disney Land. I was instantly entranced and waded in fully dressed in non-swim clothes. My parents had to drag me away. Disney Land and Universal Studios couldn’t compete with this magic. At one point one of them told me that they’d never seen me happier than in that moment.
It was like something had been missing from my life and in that moment I had found it. The waves, the water, home.
During the summer between sixth and seventh grade Blue Crush was released. It was a fantastic movie and it left me strongly convinced that surfing was in fact my calling. Never mind that I lived somewhere land locked or that it was probably too late for me. I was born to be a surfer and was very certain of this fact.
I requested that my parents move to Hawaii so I could fulfill my destiny as a surfer. They said no.
I suggested California instead. They said no.
Suspecting that citizenship was an issue I finally offered up Tofino. It’s in Canada and I could be a surfer there.
But no. They had jobs and lives in Calgary and couldn’t uproot everything for my latest intense obsession. I was very unhappy with this. It was your regular teenager-parent dispute except that to me it seemed so obvious that this thing had to happen because it was clearly my destiny and my parents didn’t understand and hoped I would stop talking about it.
My mother purchased me some Billabong and Quicksilver clothes in the hope that that would somehow compensate — in hindsight I appreciate that I was permitted to buy boys surf clothes, something that never met resistance or questions of your know Roxy is for girls wear that.
I did not fulfill my destiny as a surfer and I have yet to visit Tofino. Life is filled with hardships.
I do however live by the ocean. I go to the beach. I get to make fairly frequent tide and sea level rise diagrams.
And today I went for a stand up paddle boarding lesson. It is probably the closest I have come since viewing Blue Crush to that longing I felt. It’s almost like surfing. It was easy and I enjoyed being on the water. Unlike my kayaking adventures I think this is something I can do and want to do.
I am reaching back in time to that disappointed and frustrated 12-year-old me and telling her that this moment does in fact happen. She will glide along the water of the Pacific amongst beautiful hills. It will be fantastic. Just be patient.
I also want to tell her that those watercolours are really great and she should do a bunch of them.
That the imagery and design of those surf clothes will stay with her.
That she’ll find the water she seeks. That the pull is too strong to be denied.
Then there’s another me I want to reach back in time to. Me last year. The scared, sad, broken Rhi who could not have done something like stand up paddle boarding. The Rhi who couldn’t use her right arm. The me lying in the dark after my concussion thinking about how long it would be before she could do things again. The me that would wake up with the kind of pain in my back and neck and shoulders that made me dread the day, that made me not want to get up, not want to move, not want to exist.
I want to tell her that it’ll be okay. That it’ll get better. That she will get moments like this.
That her body is both damaged and resilient. That her sore, tense muscles also remember all those hours of training and the movement and activity of her past.
As my physiotherapist told me so often keep moving. Keep moving. Stand up straight.
Growing up my body was worthwhile as a thing that was powerful and athletic. I was never pretty so I never had value in that way, I never figured out how to be an attractive girl but I was good at a sport. My body had worth as that, I related to it as that. My body was what it did. it was muscular and had finely honed reflexes.
Relating to my body instead as something that hurts and that can’t do everything I want it to or that it used to has been challenging. I have let go of some things, accepted that I in fact have limits, accepted the fragility of my body, accepted that certain injuries leave a mark that no amount of physio exercises can erase.
Out on the water I got to relate to my body again as something that is strong, that was moving and active. It is when I am relating to my body in this way that it feels the best and that I feel the best about it. After all that worry and wondering if I would ever feel good again, how long it would be before I was back to doing things, I am trying to enjoy these days when I wake up and I feel normal, when I feel okay, to enjoy the feeling of doing something that I was scared I might never be able to do again.
I want to tell her that she’ll be alright and that she can take the time she needs to get there.