Why are surfers so cool?

Why are surfers so cool?
Could it be the greasy long hair? Strands that seemingly curl back in repulsion; disgusted by thick gelling and mismanagement.
Perhaps it’s the beach tan; skin as golden as their image, blending with the wet sand that sticks to their calves.
Maybe it is the attitude; worries drifting like wind through the greasy strands, white smiles projecting an aura of positivism; the sun reflecting off the enamel.
No, these things are not the reason, just human attempts to reflect it.
To see the world in terms of geometry is no stretch of the imagination: The mathematical dimensions of planes and lines that attempt to bring us an empirical understanding of reality.
To see the fluidity of the world - movement, liquid, action – is not so easy. Humans have forever tried to capture it; a moment frozen in photography, the sheltered perspective of film, or a mixture of watercolors. Nothing has quite done it justice.
Rolling are these waves; the unpredictable fluidity of reality.
That moment deep in the forest when a rain storm ends, minutes before the sun lifts the fog, there is a tranquil peacefulness; a cool calming, like the hum of a Buddhist mantra or the slow breath of a dreaming child. Leaves collect droplets that trickle down branches and pool in the lush green surface of their stomachs; reflecting blue sky through patchy clouds. Then, if you listen carefully, you’ll hear their stems tip slowly forward with the burden of waters weight, sending the droplets gracefully descending to quench the soil’s thirst below.
The rising sun casts long shadows over the calm harbor waters. Old wooden dinghies rock methodically, counting quietly to themselves. The light wind ripples across the surface and the water laps against glistening rocks. Seagulls, thawing cold wings in the fresh heat, dip and rise through the cool currents of the morning air. As quickly as the moment comes it is gone, beauty and tragedy so closely tied.
With budding trees and rising mists of the spring, rolling avalanches tumble like waterfalls; the sun twinkling on their coats. Looking to the sky, mountains breathe open air again; warming in the summer sun: The unpredictable movement of the present is the true construction of the future.
For it is the flexing, bending of lines that is the essence of being alive. It is that constantly progressing moment we define as the present, but can only explain in terms of past and future. To capture it would be like a musician eternally capturing harmony and rhythm; that purest understanding, the moment each surfer tastes on his feet, loses when his face smashes into the sand, and strives forever to achieve again.
Rolling are these waves; like sparking sulfur; a reality we pretend to understand.
That moment each male cigarette smoker dreamed of during addiction; turning in a bar stool to lock with beady blue eyes fluttering under seductive lashes in the dim light. When that one drag sends a cherry glow across his face, and the smoke roars from his nostrils like a bull exhaling on winter’s morn and drifts slowly through bold eyes in a timeless projection of raw masculinity.
The dream of every woman in high heels; that long curving of her body like an archer’s bow, when her hips project her pelvis forward, her back bends, her smile blossoms and delicate fingers roll through soft hair in a beautiful flex of femininity.
Nobody likes to be called a square.
It’s the dynamic element of human relations scholars write about and fundamentalist politicians forget about; the two way street of understanding that, when ignored, tears human love apart.
It’s speaking convincingly, transitioning smoothly, faking left with a stutter step then slipping effortlessly to the right.
It’s the warm glow that radiates from the wrinkles of a smiling face, and dances with the beauty of laughter; vitality and youth regardless of age.
It is the concept jazz musicians toy with and the reality yoga tries to manifest.
We have always been obsessed with the ocean. Perhaps this is because it closely reflects the reality of life itself: An infinite number of unpredictable waves rolling constantly, peacefully, across the predictable lines and planes of sea level. It’s something that with a waxed board and a sense of balance and harmony, a surfer can ride. It takes hours of practice for seconds of success. Nonetheless, during those short, forgotten, fractions of time one flows gracefully upon the eternal wave; the essence of life’s beauty, the youthful glow deep in all of our eyes. They gain an infinite level of understanding.
This is why surfers are so cool.