The call of the ocean

I was listening to Hawaiian music in the shower this morning. The sound of the ukulele and the amazing vocal range of an almost 800 pound man named Israel Kamakawiwo'ole filled me with a longing for the ocean. The tropics. The beach. The surf. 

Part of this longing has to come from the fact that it is getting colder in Utah. That, and as it gets colder, the trees shed their leaves and I can see more of the barren desert that surrounds me. I get this feeling of distance from the sea. I almost believe it is gone. There is only a vast sea of brown earth. Oh sure, there are multiple shades of brown, but it's still brown.

I hate to see my surfboards idly leaning against the wall with nothing to do but hope. They were meant to ride the waves. I was meant to ride the waves. 

The ocean has always inspired men. It beckons like an unconquerable expanse. It is truly the last frontier, regardless of all of man's peregrinations and circumnavigations. We know very little about it. It's mystique and seemingly endless grip on the horizon fills the soul with wonder and contemplation. You can allow your mind to slip into an infinite blue that has no master. It liberates me. It is somehow home.

Well, I guess there's only one way to solve this problem. Ditch Utah. Go to the coast. Marry a mermaid. Live underwater with clownfish and sea turtles. And surf.