I rested my head on my tray table as if it were a chest high pillow, as I dreamed of all of the chest high waves we had ridden before this long trek home had begun. I rubbed my tired eyes on my familiar navy flannel. ATL to LAX, the final flight of three that it takes to get home from Mancora, had two hours and 23 minutes left. If I hadn’t woken up on the airplane I might have wondered if it was all a dream. I sat up and traced a design on the airplane wall with my index finger. I kept the window next to my invisible design closed to keep out the white bright light that would have made me aware of everything. I opened my journal for something to do. A white folded paper dropped into my lap.
You thought I forgot.
The outside of the note still read.
I blinked my eyes twice, trying to rouse myself into the state I needed to be in, a state I was finally ready to be in. Holding the square folded paper in my hands I turned it in circles, touching my index finger carefully on the point of each corner. I guess now would be a good time, I thought.
As I read the first sentence I paused in mystification. How is it that someone can know what you need even better than you, yourself do?
I'm so excited for you to be realizing a dream you have had for so long.
the thoughtful note read.
How did he know this trip was everything I needed? Before I began this journey I had laid my head on his chest and cried, sobbing about all of the unknowns and the what-ifs. The truth is, the unknown moments became the most defining ones. Getting myself from one unfamiliar location to the next, challenging myself to bring my surfing to a new level in a new place, driving out in the middle of nowhere in search of waves with someone who spoke no English, and forming new friendships along the way.
I will miss you a ton, but make sure you remember that I will be here when you get back, wanting to hear about your great adventure.
So be sure to make some great stories.
Don’t worry Scott, I did.