Del Mar, the beach front community that I am so lucky to call home, is a fantasy of sorts, where summer lasts all year long, where youth seems, so to say, eternal and dreams invincible. The beaches are perennially busy with people frolicking along the squiggly shoreline as the rugged land embraces the enormous water, offering a sight at once formidable and inviting. Del Mar’s beach at 15th Street with its lush Torrey Pines and unforgettable sunsets is much adulated by film and print media. It is, however, the surfer boys of Del Mar who shower it with utmost adoration. They show up with their gear every day to ride the waves even when it is misty or raining as though to keep an ardent promise made to the beach, a pact so inviolable that they’d rather risk their lives than break it. The surfer boys are enrapturing pictures of beauty and perfection as they ebb and rise on the ocean floor, doing a dance both calming and brave, real and ethereal, many of them waiting for hours to catch a perfect wave to ride on, presenting a timeless lesson in practice and patience. Today is yet another glorious day in Del Mar, holding out sunny assurances. A stranger smiles and nods as I look up from my writing on a green patch by the shore. Farther up, a surfer boy walks into the water, surf board and paddle in hand. In the distance, I see a big wave coming and sensing his euphoria, I grin. Everyday is a reason to believe. Life is a beach.