CONQUISTADORS OF THE USELESS
Three questions.
1. Do you want to surf the best waves of your life?
2. Can you keep a secret?
3. Are you able to meet me at the airport at 6am tomorrow?
What would you do if the same questions were pinged to you by a famous surf photographer on a Monday morning at 5am, precipitating a sea change in your quiet life?
The answers were all yes, of course, although the overspill into other lives was significant. Bailed on my girlfriend mid house-reno, bailed on my job, bailed on the plethora of neatly packaged responsibilities that you only realise you have when you turn your back on them.
Instead I suddenly found myself stuffing possessions into a board-bag whilst trotting out lies down the mobile to the most important people in my life.
“Where? I don’t know. I know that sounds strange…I’m sorry. One week…I’m sorry.”
With the cogs firmly in motion and adrenaline running thin over hours in transit, I hung onto the fact that we were only a couple more flights away. Eyes
