It was all balance.
But then, she already knew that from surfing.
Sex and Rage: Advice to Young Ladies Eager for a Good Time: A Novel
You don’t understand Mavericks until you’ve stood on those cliffs with salt wind tearing at your face, watching thirty foot walls of Pacific rage explode against rock like some ancient god clearing its throat. This isn’t recreation, it’s a confrontation with the fundamental question of why we’re here at all, played out in freezing water by people who’ve looked at the comfortable lie of safety and said, collectively, fuck that. The wave doesn’t care about mortgages or meaning or carefully constructed narratives of self. It just comes, relentless and beautiful and utterly indifferent, and what happens next is the closest thing to truth most of us will ever witness. These are the people who paddle out to meet it.
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