Accepting Kindness

photo: katerha used with permission

Surfs Up!
A couple weeks ago, my wife Julie and I were vacationing in a little Mexican beach town called Sayulita. The weather was lovely, the ocean warm, and the waves were small and soft -- perfect for a Seattle-based surfer like me.

One afternoon, as the tide went from medium to high, a peak that hadn’t been surfable at lower tide started to ‘turn on’. I watched a couple nice waves roll thru. There was a small pack of guys on the main peak, but no one paddling over to this new spot. Ok, maybe it’s because of that big chunk of reef sticking up at the end section of the wave, but it didn’t look that bad.

Adult Jeff thought, “Yeah it looks fun… but are you up to dodging the reef? You haven’t surfed since summer.” Rising adrenaline squeezed my chest. Another wave stood up on the spot, the curl rolling for an easy 30 yards or so with totally makeable sections and plenty of room for a couple big turns. Adrenaline fizzled in my brain, whispering, “Just paddle out and have a look.” Before I knew it, I’d paddled out and was sitting on the peak.

From the water I could see that by riding a higher line across the wave and kicking out early, I could pretty easily avoid the reef. I picked off the first one that came thru, and got a really fun ride. Hooting, I paddled back out and got another one right away.

The tide kept rising, and the waves kept coming. My confidence grew with every ride. I added an extra turn, ending my rides closer to the reef. I was in it – feeling the rush, and getting cocky. Until I rode one a bit too far.

I didn’t get pushed up onto the reef, but I was ‘caught inside’ and a set of white-water washed me into the shallows. I wound up about 20 yards from the beach, but I knew that final stretch was sea urchin-infested. Rather than risking a walk, I decided to float in as far as I could.

The key to safely washing over a reef is patience. Floating on your stomach, a hand on your board, you let the ocean gently wash you in. No kicking. No paddling. But about halfway to the beach I lost my patience, started gently kicking, and almost immediately something jabbed into my foot. Rolling over to check the damage I saw six or seven urchin spines sticking out my big toe. 

Making it to the beach I gently pulled out spines, but a couple of the tips broke off under the skin. The ideal tool for removing those is a sewing needle, and I figured that the local surf shop might keep one of those handy.

Kindness Blindness

I hobbled over and found the 12-year old ‘shop grom’ Odie behind the counter. He said no sewing needles were available but he offered to pick the spines out himself with a thumbtack sterilized with a cigarette lighter. A little reluctantly, I gave him a shot. The first few came out easily, but then a customer came in, so I borrowed the thumbtack and lighter and moved to the curb to pick out the final spines myself.

I was making steady progress when four sandals clopped into view. Looking up, two gringos smiled down at me with quizzical looks on their faces. The man said, “I hope you sterilized that thing!”. I chuckled.

           “Sea urchin?”

“Yep.”

“Why don't you try tweezers?”

“Good idea. But this pin is working. I’ve almost got it.”

“But did you sterilize it?”

I held up the lighter. “I think I’ll be okay”

“Did you consider flesh-eating bacteria?" 

Seriously dude, what the hell? I looked up at him and half-snarked, “You wanna take a crack at it?”

He hunkered down immediately and asked for a magnifying glass and rubbing alcohol. I chuckled and held up the lighter. Tweezers? I laughed. Clearly he knew less about extracting urchin spines than Odie or me.

He went looking for a pharmacia, and his wife explained that they were from Bellevue, Washington with six kids, and he was an orthopedic surgeon, so helping people was just part of his DNA. He brought back rubbing alcohol and tweezers, sheepish that “they didn’t have a magnifying glass” and walked me to a bench across the street.

After washing my foot with the alcohol he started poking at me with the tweezers.

   Me: You’re very kind to try and help me, but what we really need is a sewing needle.

   Doc: (poke) These tweezers are terrible!” (poke poke)

   Me: Yeah? Um…(poke poke) 

   Doc: If I had my surgi-kit I’d be done by now.(poke poke poke)

A few pokes later, a street vendor approached us, holding her assortment of sarongs and pantalones. She said something in Spanish I didn't catch, but told her, “no gracias”. 

She spoke again, so I looked at her, smiled, and said “no gracias”, thinking, “Jeez, can’t you see I’m not on the market for a sarong at the moment?”. She held my gaze. I looked away. She waited impassively as the doc continued poking, grumbling, and tweezing, I guessed she was hoping to sell us something when we finished up.

A few more pokes and I told the doc that I appreciated his help but I would handle things from here. I offered to reimburse him for the first-aid supplies, but he shrugged, saying that’s ok, and flip-flopped towards the beach with his wife. Relieved, I turned back to the vendor and closing my eyes I shook my head firmly, stating “no gracias” a third time. When I opened my eyes I saw that she was holding something out to me. I realized that, this whole time, she'd been offering me the very thing I'd been looking for.

A sewing needle.

Nodding, she pushed the needle at me. My first reaction was surprise – how did she know what I needed? Then embarrassment – I realized she’d been saying “Amigo, you need a sewing needle, wanna use one of mine?”. I accepted her needle feeling like “Muchas gracias” didn't say nearly enough, but I said it anyway. She nodded again, turned, and walked off, leaving me stunned and humbled.

Using the needle, I easily popped the last sliver of urchin spine out of my foot. Heart swelling with relief and gratitude, I dropped the collection of first-aid gear off at the surf shop and went to find Julie to tell her what had just happened.

. . . . . . . .

Three strangers offered me their finest self. In each case my impulse was to deflect, to assume they couldn’t help me, and say no gracias. Why is accepting kindness so hard? Maybe it’s easier to offer kindness? or maybe in the moment saying “no gracias” just seems easiest? or maybe I'm afraid that accepting kindness will require more energy than I think I have? 

I'm reminded regularly that kindness in all its forms lifts me up. That accepting kindness pulls me into joy and abundance. My task is simply to say, “yes please”. 

And Muchas Gracis to the locals and tourists of Sayulita for your generosity of spirit.