In celebration of Independence Day, I have decided to acknowledge my lack of autonomy (sorry Lady Liberty). While I’d like to claim self-sufficiency, sovereignty and confidence, I realized something very important while huddled in the corner of a RipCurl fitting room this week: this trip was a ridiculous idea. This kind of excursion was not made for me and I had no business putting my city mouse ass on a plane to try to prove the world differently.
Of course, this realization could have come at a more convenient time. Here I was less than a week out from my trip trying to regain my composure in the downtown mall. I was using my purse as a makeshift paper bag, breathing into it heavily and praying the room would stop swimming. I’d had better days.
Shopping has always made me anxious, but this time the anxiety was looming, suffocating. Like a big gray cloud with an agenda following me around to every store in the valley as I look for beach clothes. Let it be noted that I’m pretty sure this metaphorical cloud was laughing at me, as I wasn’t even sure what ‘beach clothes’ really were. How was I supposed to? I am the farthest thing from a beach blond, sun goddess or tanned beauty. Seriously, I could be the fairest skinned person in the world (take that Snow White). I would be lucky to leave El Coco Loco without looking like a lobster.
What the hell was I thinking?
Really, what kind of girl from Las Vegas decides to head to a South American country to go surfing? The closest I’d gotten to hanging ten was taking a couple of beginner lessons down in Malibu on a foam board when I’d visit my grandparents during my high school summers. And that was years ago; I am pretty sure surfing isn’t like riding a bike. With my luck, I would end up with the leading role in Soul Surfer II.
Do they even have sharks in Nicaragua?
See? That’s the kind of question I should know the answer to.
My dad told me today that there was an earthquake right off the shore of the beach where Holly has her retreat. Leave it to me to choose to now to go board down the most active volcano in Nicaragua. I might actually have to out-surf some lava. Or a tsunami. Or have to find out what it’s like to really be the sole Survivor (any pointers Boston Rob?).
I have six days to chicken out. Can I go through with this?