How To Not Fall in Love with Your Surf Instructor

Today I said bye to my surf instructor. He’d taken astute care of us for a week everyday, helping us catch waves and cheering when we managed to stand on our boards. Tan skin, golden hair, and blue eyes. So at peace in the water. The waves are his home.
When my last class was over, I felt like crying. When your life is on the road, people like him feel like your best friend in the world. The thought that I would never see his face again pierced me somewhere deep inside, invoking an unfounded desperation.
I couldn’t not see him again.
A younger version of myself might have concluded that I was in love with my surf instructor.
Older (and wiser?) Sarah draws the conclusion that this is the longest I’ve been anywhere in two months, here in San Sebastian, and so I’m like a puppy when it comes to forming relationships with others humans. Desperate to connect and belong.
And seeing someone everyday at the same time, whether it’s the person at the bakery, our Spanish teacher, or our hot surf instructor even if we never once had a deep conversation, is still part of what makes up our world, what appeals to our nature of habit and brings us comfort.
And so after my last Spanish class today, I directly had my last surf class, and that was hard. Really hard. Everything crashing down around me. All at once after two weeks of some feeling of stability.
And also still high in adrenaline from catching waves for 2 hours, those fight or flight hormones are still coursing through my body, being falsely attributed to other emotions…
My mind knows now that the unfounded magnitude of that goodbye is a sign to proceed with caution. That my angst (caused by the idea of never seeing this person I didn’t really know again) is not justified.
And so I write about it now to get some perspective. Because sometimes it helps.
I’m lucky to feel something.
