Paddle Meditations
The sun has just risen. The air is crisp hovering over the San Francisco Bay. Today is one of those quintessential Bay mornings – mirror glass smooth water, bright orange sun reflecting, steaming a gentle morning mist that my paddle board slices as it glides across the surface. There are no sounds but nature – pelicans & seagulls squawking, sea lions barking in the distance, cormorants splashing through the surface in search of their morning sushi. The city is mostly sleeping, but the Bay is alive.
On most days I travel outbound against the current so I have the tide at my back returning. I leave Crane Cove and follow the shoreline past Mission Rock, Chase Center, Pier 54, with its glimmering Lunar New Year Floats, and point myself towards the Cape Hudson and Cape Horn ships at Pier 50. A herd of seals sit atop a cropping of ruined pilings I’ve dubbed “The Roman Forum” (they sit in front of our modern-day Colosseum) basking in the early morning sun. They are all shapes, sizes, and colors, as some swim close to me out of curiosity. They poke their heads up in the still water, doe-eyed, and then disappear into the murky deep.
When I was young I used to play basketball in my driveway every day after school. I would invent games and could entertain myself for hours. I would play one game where I would ask a question and then take a shot. If I made it, the answer was yes. If I missed it was either no, or an excuse to rephrase the question. “Will I marry Gayle Schleifer?” – miss. “Will Gayle Schleifer love me anyway?” – score. (She didn’t btw). Looking back, the time I spent playing these games was a form of meditation for me. I was in the zone. The rest of the world did not exist outside of the boundaries of our blacktop and garage hoop. It’s the closest thing I can recall to a flow-state in my undiagnosed ADHD childhood of the 80s.
I learned Vipassana meditation in my 40s and have developed a regular practice. If you’ve not explored it, I recommend it, especially for active-brain types. It’s centered around a body-scanning technique that keeps your mind engaged and focused while, at the same time, facilitating equanimity for the thoughts and sensory bits that arise. There is also a very sensible framework for how we experience suffering in our lives and simple practices to detach from it. But I’m not here to preach about Vipassana - rather, it’s just how I kick start my day. 30 minutes and I’m pretty dropped in. It’s a wonderful practice, but it’s quite different than the flow-state of my childhood.
The closest I experience to my hoop dreams today is when I practice yoga, with long sweaty flows and lots of Ujjayi breathing. I also find this state on the water, paddle board under foot, open water in front of me. There’s an ever-morphing kaleidoscope that passes by, as my body is in union with the undulating sea beneath. I’ve traveled the world with my board and found myself along the coastlines of Italy, Mexico, Costa Rica, etc. There’s a rhythm to my stroke, a cadence that sparks my mind to travel to a place of focus and purpose – quieting the noise of the outside world. Nothing exists except me, my board, and the water wilderness.
I do my best thinking in these times. With so much clarity, I find myself setting intentions but often return with completely different revelations. Many of my major life decisions, business ideas, personal growth moments, and moments of creative inspiration have happened out on the water in the past few years. As a professional in the paddle business, a lot of people ask me about the sport and what are the benefits. Beyond the obvious physical exertion, I can confidently say that my paddling is a moving meditation – it’s now an essential part of my self care.
Before I know it, I’ve found myself at the end of Mission Creek. Deep in thought, I paddled past McCovey Cove, under the 3rd and 4th Street Bridges, and beyond the houseboats to the UCSF dock. I actually wrote most of this blog post in my head on this paddle. The sun is starting to warm the city as shimmers bounce off downtown buildings and reflect in my eyes. I squint and turn around to make my way back on the two mile return home to Crane Cove. I find myself back in the groove again, breathing, beaming, lost in thought…maybe even thinking about Gayle Schleifer.