The Surfing Museum

As I walked down the beach, I found myself standing and staring into the horizon. I wind was blowing through my hair and the sand was tickling my feet. As I looked out at the ocean, the waves broke onto themselves and the tide came in slowly. The waves were beautiful and full of life. I felt the water beneath my feet and shuddered at the cold. As I stood there, suddenly, a form appeared over the top of one of the huge waves.

The form slid down the wave in perfection as the water blurred behind them. They were gliding across the water, arms wide open, knees bent and were shouting in delight. They moved so poised and delicate across the water until a wave broke and crashed down around them. They were gone.

Soon, a surfboard came up from the water and the surfer along with it. Their smile was bright and full of life. I felt my arms go up toward the sky as I pretended to be surfing. The spray from the waves licked my face and I breathed in the salty sea air. I had not brought my surfboard with me today and I was missing the adventure.

I felt myself moving up the beach towards the boardwalk. I was saddened to leave the water, however, something was calling me back up to town. On the beaches of California, there are little houses and towns spread out across the water. Each one offers its own set of diamonds and treasures. However, my town offered something that none of the others did. My feet hit the boardwalk and I felt myself take off running. I ran past the Ferris wheel and the restaurants.

I ran past my favorite surf shop and gave them a wave. I ran past children with their ice cream cones and women in their polka dot bikinis. Everyone seemed happy and free. Soon, in the background, I saw the beautiful building. It had a staircase that lead up to the beautiful double doors. I looked around and saw no one standing around like they do in the cooler months. I was alone, there on the first step into the museum. I took a few more seconds to take in the brilliance and then I walked up to the top.

The sign on the door read, “The Surfing Museum”

I walked up to the door and peered in. I saw no one staring at the various black and white photographs that greet you when you enter. No one was squealing in fear and delight over the life size shark that floated above the welcome desk. It was empty except for the greeter on the inside. I walked in and felt the cool air on my face. My footsteps sounded like a bass drum on the wooden floor.

The greeter gave me a crooked half smile as I walked towards the first corridor. The first room was very large and open and houses a hundred or more surfboards. These boards ranged in size and glamour. I touched each one as I went by them, imagining what it would have been like to try them out. Some boards were years old and had marks of history on them. Some had dirt and sand stains still attached and some even had a few shells engraved in the bottom. History stood still in front of me.

I walked down a long narrow hallway to find photographs of famous surfers staring back at me. They seemed lonely. No one was there to stand in awe of their accomplishments today. Out the nearby window, I saw hundreds of people lying on the beach, swimming and searching for seashells. They were all out there, soaking up the sun. However, I was on the inside, soaking up all the history around me.

I went through photo after photo, looking at the happy faces of pro surfers holding their medals. Some were holding their boards with looks of fear and pride. Some were out there on the water. One was missing an arm from a shark attack that could have taken her life. I was surrounded by greatness. I soon realized that there was no place I would rather be than surrounded by these greats and their legacies. As I turned towards the hallway, I found myself running.

I ran to the water where I smiled and breathed in the air. It was time to surf.