Of Time and The City

"Stress is a perverted relationship to time."

One could easily make the case that the one thing you truly control in your life is time. Physics posits that time, far from being that oppressive, dogmatic hound of consequntial action, is in fact a far subtler arbitrator, willing to squish and pull to meet whatever perspective needs arise. Inevitably you die and the rate of decay surely connives to abet that, but even that qualification is infused with the relative degree of rate. So, as they say, use your time wisely. Or perhaps create your time wisely. 

This morning I took the near archival pleasure of checking the surf. I can't say it's a ubiquitous lament, but I'll attest that it is an oft repeated one that all thes cameras and websites and forecasts have robbed us of some of the mystery of the surf check. When you live in a place as unfriendly to casualness as New York, the roll-by becomes an almost impossibility. You rejigger the schedule, piss off the people and make the time to get to the water, you're getting in no matter what. Not to mention the communal pressures that arise the moment you pull up next to a buddy. But this morning I got up early, checked the surf, and came home, my hair wet from rain alone. The surf looked ok. A lot of water moving. Speedy, maybe unappealing half lefts. I had my big pink soft top and reckoned one of my other boards would be more fun. More importantly, it's Rosh Hashanah, hijo primero is out of school and segundo will have had an uncustomary long night of sleep. The time to be had there, this morning, might just be worth the time taken.