My alarm goes off at 5:30am, on what normally would be an average Saturday. I get up, hydrate, stretch, and run out the door with my surfboard and coffee in hand. Feeling refreshed by the early morning sunrise, I rush down the steep stairs hugging the cliff at my favorite springtime surf break and enter the water, in the present moment, without a care in the world. Immediately, I am reminded that this is not a normal Saturday and my cares are endlessly piling up in my subconscious. Other surfers enter the water, and at a distance, share stories of loss; their jobs, their family, friends, and neighbors. The stories have a universal undertone of sadness and languor, that is until we clamor for the next approaching wave, smiling from ear to ear. In this crazy time, it’s important to mourn what we’ve lost while embracing what we still have.
Our community, like any other, is not immune to the current pandemic and its horrendous effects. Many businesses have been forced to close, resulting in lay-offs and lost revenue. In an already risky environment for small business, it’s hard to imagine what needs to happen to save many of Santa Barbara’s beloved local establishments. With people’s lives held in abeyance we must continue socially distancing ourselves at a time when we need each other the most.
However dire everything may seem, it comforts me to remember that humans thrive in tribulations. The highly intelligent and adaptable species that we are, the more hardships we face, the more we rise to the challenge; you only have to look around your neighborhood to see this in action. Industrious new uses of resources have shaped our businesses into something more than they envisioned. Distilleries manufacturing hand sanitizers, clothing companies producing masks, yoga and fitness instructors who have utilized the all powerful social media platforms to facilitate their classes. Are these impromptu services perfect? — no, far from it. Possibly because they lack the one thing we now realized we need more than anything — physical human interaction.
When I was floating out in the ocean that Saturday morning I reminisced of all the things I missed doing in Santa Barbara with my friends. I thought about all the Bowl shows. I dreamed of running around the many museums: our Natural History Museum, Casa Dolores, Museum of Art, Karpeles Manuscript Library, etc. I miss the late night house parties and silent discos. I miss sitting at the wineries and watching people stumble capriciously from winery to winery. I miss the elote carts and letting the spicy buttery corn on the cob and mango con tajin spill down my shirt after every bite. Movies in the sunken garden, the Funk Zone, Haley and Milpas food walks, the community events at La Casa De La Raza, and the yearly festivals and their accompanying butterfly wings and glitter thongs. All these things that I enjoy with my fellow Santa Barbarians ran through my mind as I waited for the next bump of ocean energy to take me back to the present moment.
By being away from it, we’re reminded of how important social interaction is, from the simple act of being in close proximity to friends and family, to enjoying a warm embrace. This human need has recently become less familiar to us than the power outages that interrupt our nightly Netflix binges. Yet, no matter how much this is hurting us, we do have control over one thing: how we respond to it. Do we wallow in our frustrations and fears or do we choose to do more. To pick up new skills, to seek out other members of our community in need and give back; maybe volunteer, maybe start a new business? Will we search our unique talents and skills and exploit what we have to offer? And if we can’t, we must forgive ourselves and continue to heal. Sometimes this takes more time and energy than we realize.
As for me, I spend my days enjoying the things I’ve always enjoyed doing here. Things like hiking the backcountry or picking fruit off of the neighborhood fruit trees. I visit friends from a distance and call relatives daily. I appreciate all the drive by birthday parties, the car parades, the zoom meetings with friends and family that resemble the opening scene from the Brady Bunch. Most of all I continue with my usual routines as much as possible, like getting up before dawn to surf. When the fog rolls in carrying the reminiscent scent of kelp and tar in its soft breeze, I listen to the sound of the fog horns and take a deep breath, appreciating where I am. Your community is like a great marriage. At times it can feel blasé until life throws a curveball at you and you’re forced to figure it out together, hand in hand, appreciating each other even more and growing into something better.