It Takes Time to Start Over

Starting over in a new place has been hard. I know it’s supposed to be, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to go through. For the first six months, part of me truly felt that I’d never make any friends here, never build up a client base, never really belong here in any meaningful way. My husband Jamie was more settled than I was right from the start, having work to pour himself into, and immediately getting into the cycling scene here. In retrospect, I realize how good it is that one of us was happy and connected, otherwise we could have been a couple of real downers only making each other more miserable. At the time though, it was hard for me not to be resentful that I was going through this alone. I also felt jealous of his time, when he was gone all day, and then still want to do a workout or a bike ride some evenings, and I’d been home alone all day.

Getting our apartment sorted was a major priority for me, but I hardly knew where to start. We’d gotten rid of almost everything before moving, something I’d long wanted to do, but starting from scratch was daunting. I only wanted to buy things I loved, things we could see ourselves still liking 10 years from now. That’s all well and good until you’re sleeping on an air mattress for two months because you can’t find a bedframe that “inspires” you. But I started small, flipping through catalogues that came in the mail, tearing out pictures I liked and studying them to figure out what spoke to me and how I could make that happen here.

I missed our old apartment and the ease and familiarity of home, my friends, my family, coworkers and clients. I really didn’t realize until we’d left how many daily interactions I had with people I liked, how wonderful my clients truly were, and exactly how much I was losing by leaving that all behind. I struggled with the realization that I had taken so much for granted, and I feared that maybe I’d made a mistake in taking such a big leap. What if Toronto wasn’t the problem, what if it was me? Would I ever be happy anywhere?

Confiding my insecurities to a dear friend, she told me she had no doubt that I would attract wonderful people into my life, and that it would just take time. It takes time to start over, this became my mantra. I reminded myself of this when I worried I’d never have a steady income again, never get our place together, never be one of those girls walking down the street and laughing, going to yoga and getting coffee together.

I wasn’t brutally unhappy, but I was lonely. I missed my life, the one I had willingly given up in order to take a chance on this new one.

Then things slowly started to happen for me. I met one girl who things felt really easy with, just a genuine person I felt comfortable around immediately. On our first “date” we had dinner together and then joined some other girls to watch in horror as Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. A night to remember, certainly.

I liked all the girls I’d met that night, so I followed up the next day, suggesting a rock-climbing date to the group, and we made it happen a few weeks later. Over the next few months, I put myself out there whenever possible, uncomfortable and exposed as it made me feel. Slowly I started to feel some momentum building. I said yes to any invites that came my way and slowly started connecting with more girls in the larger group. I floated the idea of a ladies’ surf date at book club in February, and by March we put the plan into action.

I kept smiling to myself on the drive to Santa Cruz the morning of our first surf date, not quite believing it was really happening. It’s long been a dream of mine to have girlfriends to surf with. There is something so comforting and supportive about learning and playing sports in an all-female environment. I always found it heartwarming to see groups of young girls surfing together in Australia, and I watched them enviously, wishing my teenage experience had looked a bit more like that.

We had a blast that first day, and it was fun to be the fearless leader, advising on everything from zinc application to paddling technique. I’m far from expert, but being with mostly beginners made me realize how much I actually do know, and how far I’ve come over the years. They’d ask me questions about the waves and my technique, and I found myself having much more to offer than I’d realized. I’ve spent almost all of my time surfing with Jamie and others at a higher level than I am. Always looking up, I’ve never really given myself any credit for the progress I have made. Being able to do that gave me a big confidence boost and an impetus to keep pushing forward.

We’ve gone together a few times since then, and I’m officially crew commander, deciding which spots and tides will be best, strapping the boards on the car, and driving us all there. Things like checking the surf report and securing the boards are hardly rocket science, yet I’ve always deferred to Jamie to take care of those things. He likes to geek out on Surfline, and I pack towels and wetsuits while he gets the car loaded up, a division of labour that evolved naturally over time. Simple as it may be, being comfortable strapping my board on the car makes me feel more legit now, more like a real surfer.

After our second ladies surf, one of the girls texted me a picture taken of us that day. Looking down at my phone, suddenly it hit me. Here was my picture. There I was, at the beach, happy and surrounded by new friends. It happened. Little by little so I barely noticed it coming, and then one day, there it was.

I’m falling more in love with surfing all the time. The waves here are more suited to my level, and I’m more confident each time I go. Since we started surfing here, Jamie and I have gone our separate ways in the water, and it’s amazing how much of a difference that has made for me. Long ago I let him know I’m not keen on being told what to do, which wave to paddle for, etc, but we still stuck reasonably close together in the past. Now after paddling out, we’ll basically not see each other for at least an hour or so while we both find the spots that work for us.

I’ve realized I hadn’t been fully taking responsibility for myself in the water. Without meaning to, I’d been looking to Jamie and others for where to position myself and which waves to go for, rather than training my instincts to recognize what felt right to me. Now that I’m out there alone, I take my time getting comfortable, figure out where I want to be, and then paddle hard for every wave that I can. A couple of weeks ago a guy made the comment that I was “charging” after we’d battled for a few waves. When he paddled away I started grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. I struggle so much with doubt and hesitation, and have been deeply frustrated with myself for being timid in the water much of the time. It was amazing to realize that this too has been shifting, little by little, until one day a stranger could say I was “charging”.

I’ve also discovered that there is something very comforting to me about wearing a wetsuit. It makes me feel like I fit in, that I’m inconspicuous as a female. It’s basically the dead opposite of paddling around the lineup in a bikini. Somewhere along the way I’ve internalized the idea that by being female, I am immediately perceived as less competent athletically, less of a real contender. Despite being a pretty natural athlete all my life, this has crept into my self-perception and negatively impacted my confidence and performance more times than I could count. I guess that’s the cumulative effect of hearing “you’re pretty good at _____, for a girl” for 30+ years.

So I pull on my wetsuit, braid back my hair, cover my face with zinc, and top it all off with a visor to keep the sun out of my eyes. It’s not a pretty picture, and there is something refreshing about that. I don’t feel the familiar pressure to please with my appearance, I’m out there for me and me alone. The self-consciousness is gone and I’m able to actually be in my body, free from the awareness of being seen. I put girl on the shelf for a while, and go out into the ocean simply as surfer. It’s unbelievably liberating.