7. Searching for Freedom
Searching for Freedom
SAM
FIFTEEN MONTHS AGO
It was a mistake to go away again. I think I knew that even as I got on the plane.
I really had been ready to settle down—it’s why I went to the building conference.
But then Jamie had talked about freedom in his keynote, and suddenly, being stuck in my hometown launching a career I thought was cool but had no idea if it was for me, felt like the antithesis of what I wanted.
I’d also had the most incredible 24 hours with a woman who hadn’t judged me or treated me like I should be further along in life by now. I was floating on air. I wanted to keep the feeling going.
So here I was, two weeks after the conference, on what felt like the edge of the world.
Blissfully unaware I was at the precipice of a dance with death.
I was bone tired from 30-plus hours of flying, close to the same on busses, and a final two hours spent on the back of an open pickup to get to this beyond-remote place on the edge of a vast marine park.
I slung my backpack over one shoulder as the driver untied my surfboard.
As he drove away, I took in the miles-long stretch of empty beach with its white sand and crashing surf and let out a massive breath.
This was the feeling I’d craved; the one I got every time I landed somewhere new.
The relief of being somewhere no one could find me or expect anything of me.
Pure, unbridled freedom.
The resort could barely be called that. There was nearly no connection to the outside world: no phones, no internet.
The outdoor restaurant apparently ran on a generator for a couple of hours each night, so barely any electricity, either.
A dozen simple cabins on stilts dotted the beach.
Mine contained a single bed draped in a mosquito net that had seen better days.
The bathroom was a set of pit toilets and the showers were cold water only.
It was perfect.
I stepped out onto the beach ten minutes later with my surfboard under my arm.
The woman who’d checked me in had moved to a hammock by the counter in the outdoor restaurant.
I suspected I might be the only guest here, which only made the delicious feeling of being at the edge of the world on my own more palpable.
It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky.
As I struck out onto the beach, white sand squeaked between my toes.
The air was scented with tropical flowers and sea spray.
Out on the ocean, waves thundered onto the shore.
In the distance, farther down the beach, rocks jutted from the surf.
Huge plumes of water exploded off of the bigger ones, while the smaller ones disappeared completely when the water rose.
But over here, there was nothing but flat sand.
It was the perfect surf spot. The waves were massive, and there wasn’t a soul in the water.
I affixed my leash to my ankle, pressing hard to get the worn velcro to stick.
I’d have to see if I could get the strap repaired while I was here.
I paddled out into the water, ducking under the first few waves.
The ocean was warm, the salt a sting in my eyes and tang on my tongue.
I don’t think I’d ever been happier. Well, maybe I had.
When I learned how to ride a bike. When I won the pennant my senior year.
When I’d seen a whole village in a war zone flood with food trucks.
When I’d suggested a walk with the beautiful woman I’d been chatting up at the conference social and she asked me instead to go back to her room. I grinned as I remembered that.
The first few swells I was still getting situated.
It had been a couple years since I’d been on a board.
Soon enough I got into it. I hooted out loud as I rode a wave long enough for it to peter out.
Then I did it again. On shore, I noticed a man sitting in a plastic chair next to the woman in the hammock.
I noticed his bright red shirt, but otherwise didn’t pay too much attention.
They looked friendly with each other, the woman laughing at something he said.
A cloud had appeared: a large blob that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
It drifted across the sun, making everything drop a shade darker.
Maybe I should have taken that as a sign and gotten out of the water.
Rested up. Had something to eat. But another wave came and I forgot about everything except the joy of racing over the sea; the whistle of wind and surf in my ears.
It was hard to tell what time it was; I didn’t have a watch.
The sun in the sky was my only time piece, but it was hidden behind the thickening clouds.
The first drop of rain fell as I saw what I knew would be my final wave of the day: a massive swell building in the distance I was pretty sure was going to develop into a solid barrel.
I paddled out, my heart thumping, adrenaline coursing through me.
I angled myself around as it approached and began to paddle hard.
I got up easily enough, but I didn’t see how far I’d drifted—and how far I’d swum to reach the wave.
If I hadn’t noticed the rocks, I might have been fine.
But I did notice them. One whipped by me like a shark’s fin.
It spooked me. So much that one moment I was up, heart ripping through my chest as I flew between what looked like two jagged teeth, the next I was down, underwater, spinning so fast I was lost, my leash, board, and the surface nowhere to be found.