Unexpected Kindness

on receiving remarkable generosity

Aloha, I’m Ashley. I write about life through the lens of love for creative souls who seek to make life more beautiful. If you find value in the magical and inspiration in the messy middle, subscribe to join the journey. Your footprints will be celebrated.

For our anniversary, my dad gave my husband and me two longboards that have been sitting in their garage for years, unused, with the caveat that, should he ever want to surf again, he gets to use them. Dad, on the day that you do, I will carry that board to the water for you (he reads these, so, promise doubly made). 

Last weekend, we picked the boards up and took them for a paddle. I had the inkling to bring another board with us, just in case of whatever, but I didn’t listen to said inkling and paid for it later, only to be repaid with a kindness so unexpected and huge that I’m glad I didn’t listen. 

N. and I were crossing the street to get in the water, and I caught the eye of a guy and his friend. He smiled widely and said, “Hi!” Some people are so kind and openhearted that they catch even me off-guard. Is this some kind of trick? It’s rare, for sure. But I was feeling receptive and excited about surfing, and I responded with as much enthusiasm. 

The day was glittering, and the ocean alternated shades of aquamarine, viridian, and peacock blue. The waves looked gentle but consistent. In short, it was the perfect Sunday morning…until it wasn’t. 

I caught my first wave, a gentle sloping thing about hip-high, and glided smoothly to the end. I hopped off the back of my board, dunking myself fully for the first time. But when I surfaced, I was decidedly further than the 9’ leash should have allowed. Swimming to my board, I thought, I’ll just tie it back together; it’s mellow today. It’ll hold. Except there was very little leash left. I grabbed the two-foot section, and it broke off in my hand. Uh, not good. It had been wrapped tightly around the tail of the board so long that it kinked and disintegrated at a touch.  

Running through my options I decided I’d just take small, makable waves and surf on the inside without a leash — something I very much should have been able to handle. 

What happened next was entirely my fault. 

A wave came, paddle paddle paddle, and it jacked up behind me. I wasn’t going to chance a steep drop on a nine-foot board without a leash, so I figured I’d belly ride, and everyone would end up okay. Except the nose took a dive, and because there was very little wax on this board, it shot out of my hands like a bar of soap. Shit, shit, shit. I knew there were people on the inside. 

I popped up in time to see the board full breach, like a damn whale out of the water, and dive straight for that nice guy and his friend who he was teaching to surf on the very inner-most break — a safe spot, typically. 

Oh fuck. If there’s something I take very seriously, it’s surf etiquette and safety. I saw the two guys dive under, the board tomahawking in front of them. I watched N. grab my board, and I swam in. As I passed the two guys, I paused. “Are you okay? Did it hit you? I’m so sorry. My leash broke.” 

They were fine. They were smiling. The greeter from shore said, “Oh, I’m so sorry (that your leash broke).” They did not display one iota of animosity or ego, which is not usually the case when someone screws up in the water. 

After that, I thought, I’m done. I can’t risk hurting anyone. 

So I sat on the inside where the gang of learners was and N. paddled out. There was literally nobody inside of where we were sitting, so I felt that I could possibly catch some waves here; the only danger would be the rocks to the board.

The friend paddled past with the son, who was swimming alongside him. He smiled at me. 

“Did you see your life pass before your eyes?” I asked. 

“Sort of,” he laughed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay; my buddy told me what to do if that happened; just grab the board and roll.” 

“Yep, dive down works too.” 

We chatted for a bit, and he paddled back to his friend. I bobbed around some more. 

“Did you get your leash fixed?” the greeter asked. 

“Oh no. It disintegrated. There’s no fixing it,” I said. “I’m just going to hang out in here.” 

“Do you want my leash?” he asked. “I’m just sitting here.”

I’m flummoxed. We don’t know each other. I nearly decapitated his friend. Maybe it’s self-preservation on his part, but it really feels like selfless kindness.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” He smiles broadly. “Great place to be on a Sunday.”  

“Yeah, it was either this or mow the lawn.” We laughed because is there really a choice?

He gave me his leash. I was just going to double up and wear two ankle straps, but he said, “Give me yours so it doesn’t get in the way.”

“You sure?” I asked.

He assured me he was, so I gave him what was left of mine—the Velcro ankle strap and the Velcro board strap since there was no longer any leash attached to either. 

“Thank you so so much,” I said.

“You don’t have to give it back.”

“What? But I will!” I insisted. This was beyond.

“No worries. I have choke leashes,” he replied, still smiling. 

“Wow, thank you.” 

I paddled out and caught one of the bigger sets that rolled in — a steep drop that I almost didn’t make, but I did, and it was glorious. On my way back to the peak, Winton cheered from a distance, complimenting my ride. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I call back and give a little bow. You saved my session, I thought and continued to marvel at his kindness. 

His action made me want to do something so generous, so selfless. It made me want to make someone’s day. It made me want to expect nothing in return but the joy of giving. His generosity will have a far-reaching effect worth so much more than a $30 leash. 

We surfed long after their posse went in, but I have the leash in my truck, and I’m going to give it back if I ever see him again — or maybe someone else will need it. Or they might need something different. My hope is to recognize that need and give without hesitation, like Winton. 

REMINDER! Tiny Wonders: Summer Edition will drop this Thursday, June 20th, and will continue weekly for twelve weeks. They’ll be short and sweet moments of wonder to remind us all to stop for stillness and awe. As with everything, it’s an experiment, and I expect it to evolve.