We were both holding on to this thing, this monster between us. And now that I saw it, I could almost feel it hovering there, tangible. It was wrapping its stickiness around our throats –...

But I looked out at the waves far below the bluff. They looked violent, erupting against the cliff. I watched them rising – up, up, higher, higher – then falling, crashing, swirling into chaos, passing...

So, without telling any of my Zen-snob buddies, I liked to pretend everything was the Pure Land, that my life was already perfect as it was.

Surfing is kind of a good metaphor for the rest of life. The extremely good stuff – chocolate and great sex and weddings and hilarious jokes – fills a minute portion of an adult lifespan....

I felt a taste of that other kind of contentment that doesn’t come from acquiring information or getting praise or building a resume, the kind that is just there, like a hidden pearl.

I guess even the prettiest things eventually end up stinking. Everything does. We all will die and rot and decay and be reborn as dirt or flowers or worms, or polar bears who will drown...