The reality of being with a surfer

Some women in San Diego have a picture of what it's like to date a surfer. Yes, surfers are in shape. Yes, they are laid back and easygoing. Yes, they have impeccable taste in hoodies. In the beginning, all was as I imagined it would be. Before I had M locked up and had to pretend I was fun, he would take me out for surfing lessons and gently teach me, and I'd enjoy the novelty of a new adventure. We even went night surfing with the red tide. It was exciting to date a hardcore surfer, like I finally had the street cred to wear Volcom.

The flip side of the coin was that, as M and I became more serious, I had to learn not to make any plans more than 24 to 48 hours in advance, in case there was swell (and because having a pending obligation depresses him). This doesn't sound like a big deal, except when other people, like friends and family, want to get together at an agreed-upon time and place, or if other important things are happening simultaneously. When the waves were a rare head high in San Diego a couple summers ago, I let M off the hook as my date for a wedding (granted, it was a potluck wedding, but still). When we were picking out wedding bands, what should have been a sentimental occasion turned into our first real, tearful fight because Surfline and its spiking graphs would not go quietly into the night.

Further, since different surf spots are better at certain times of the year, if I want to plan something on a weekend in winter, I try to make it near Sunset Cliffs, and if we're planning a beach day in the summer, it's ideally near Swamis. I know that it's best to have food available at the end of a surf session. While M is paddling out, I'm often running errands or doing chores, taking care of the small burdens in life so that he won't have an immediate to-do list when he comes out of the water exhausted and happy. When I commit to plans with a group, I mentally prepare for the possibility of going alone, in case the surf is good.

My schedule is constantly in flux, my day always agile (see blog title: get it? It's also a software term, I...just nevermind).

Our wedding invitation, with my wedding veil and his Firewire, whatever that is.
(Invitation designed by Lauren Alisse Photogrpahy)

I don't say this to complain. I say this to underscore the reality of dating any "type," however positive; it takes true and dedicated love to want to make another person happy, all the time. We don't have the credibility of our parents--both sets happily married for decades--or even the credibility of two people married for six weeks, but we're trying to start out right. While I'm ignoring the giant plastic tub of wetsuits in our guest bathroom and the seven surfboards in the storage unit and our kitchen, M spends a lot of time at work, being the main breadwinner in our house, out-thinking the Android coding problems that plague him. He slow dances with me in the kitchen, listens quietly when I'm having a bad day, surprises me with tickets to country concerts, even though he prefers Glitch Mob. He tithes his money generously, lets me have the bigger piece of bread at dinner, books expensive horseback riding excursions on our honeymoon even though he has zero interest himself and there's downpouring rain in the Hawaiian countryside.

So, even though I've been married for, like, five minutes, I like to think the year or so of making compromises around the swell was as good premarital training as any. And reality can still have a happy ending.