She and the Sea: Meg Roh
March 29, 2020 — Lily Day
She and the Sea
Words and Photos by Lily Day
I adjust my posture so that I’m sitting up-right as I work at the large wooden communal table in my living room. I stare at the spreadsheet that glares at me from my laptop screen and my gaze inevitably wanders dreamily to the window. I quickly focus on the textured waves as they glide slowly in and out of sight. I love the architecture of my house. The large window panes that lie within white chipped frames that take up nearly an entire wall. In the center, sliding glass doors that open to a deck facing the ocean. These windows tempt me every day to relinquish any responsibilities I might have and soak in the sun.
This particular afternoon, I welcome the distraction.
Like the waves, college students glide in and out of view with their surfboards fastened to their bikes. I shift in my seat and a streak of sunshine reflects onto my face and warms my skin. I long to join them, to neglect my responsibilities further, but convince myself not to. I tell myself that the wind looks as if it’s becoming increasingly onshore and that the waves appear small, no larger than two feet. In that moment where I sit debating on whether or not I should go for a quick surf I am reminded of my friend Meg Roh — someone, who despite the conditions, has paddled out for a surf every day for 8 years 2 months and 25 days.
I abandon my work and go for a surf.
When I met Meg my sophomore year on the UC Santa Barbara surf team, she radiated light just as easily as the ocean reflected it. While her bubbly personality and aura akin to the color of sunshine struck me immediately, what also drew me to her was her unrelenting ability to inspire those around her to get in the water and surf, regardless of the conditions. Meg was soulful, filled with wisdom beyond her years, maybe something granted to her because she had surfed every day, rain or shine, since she was 12-years old until she was 20.
That’s a total of 3,008 days.
Growing up in Dana Point, Meg felt drawn to the ocean from a young age. When she was five-years old her mom taught her how to surf, but it wasn’t until her mother married her step-dad Sam that surfing really took hold in her life. Sam was dedicated to the ocean, someone who had grown up in the valley surfing Malibu. When Meg decided that she was going to surf every day, it was Sam who drove her to the beach, who made this dream of hers a possibility. Meg laughed explaining to me how Sam would always joke with her that taking her to surf was “his excuse to go surf every day.” Together they surfed through her first year. And at the end of it, Meg was approached and sponsored by Roxy. Since she first had learned to surf she had dreamed of becoming a Roxy girl and at an incredibly young age, that dream had come to fruition. So nearly every day after that, if you were looking for her, you could find Meg at San Onofre.
Something that makes surfing so special is the incredible community that it cultivates. For Meg, the community that was crucial to her development as a surfer was that of San Onofre. When reflecting on that first year of surfing she told me,
“I’ll never forget showing up to the beach one morning before school and seeing the cars and boards at San-O sprinkled with little pink stickers shaped like hearts with ‘Meg’ in the center to show their support for me and my crazy little dream.”
Just as the ocean had become, the San-O community became family to Meg—It was home. She was constantly searching for the words that could explain the bond between her and that place. I could tell she wanted the words to be just right, to emulate her exact feelings. On the days that a storm arrived, and the waves were massive and daunting, the locals at San-O paddled out by her side, always keeping their eye on her and making sure she was okay. The mere act of surfing, of surrendering our fragile bodies to the ocean, is no small feat. It is the most humbling act on this planet. The community of San-O breathed strength into Meg on the days she needed it most to paddle out. She grew to become a powerful water woman wrapped in the arms of the San-O community.
After high school, she found herself living in Santa Barbara, becoming an integral part of a new surf community in Isla Vista. It was a place where her world was centered on surfing a right point-break known as Devereux. She surfed through storms, sickness, midterms—she surfed through it all. But finding solace in the ocean didn’t come without sacrifice. Meg was surrounded by a new community of friends who loved to surf, but who also loved to go to the snow and ski, who camped and hiked in the mountains, who traveled to places that didn’t always have an ocean nearby. On the weekends that Isla Vista fell quiet as the weekend warriors left to chase a change of scenery, Meg remained and paddled out just as she always did.
It was innate to wonder if she ever felt like she had to give up participating in these activities with her friends in order to continue surfing every day—something that had come to define her. She had a world that was always watching her. Sponsors that were always watching her. As we talked I think she could sense that wonder in my expression. It was true, her heart yearned to travel, to camp with her friends for the weekend, or chase after snow in the mountains. Surfing had gifted her a life filled with so many dreams, and it’s what would one day give her the strength to chase them all. But in the meantime she assured me by saying, “surfing and the ocean has never taken away from me, it has truly given me everything.” On the days she was torn down, sick, or beaten by the things in life that force us to question it, the sea was always there for her. And on the days where she felt overwhelmed with happiness, the most alive, the sea was there for her. It had become her home and her closest confidant.
Whatever negative energy found its way into her life was cleansed everyday with salt water.
How incredible and rare it is to meet someone who is truly—of the sea.
In August of 2019, with her step-father Sam beside her, she drove into the Eastern Sierra mountain range of California. She had decided, this day, not to surf. Sam was finally able to show her his favorite place in the Sierras and together they hiked. For the first time in over eight years, Meg breathed an air that wasn’t tinged with salt. There, in the mountains, a wave of peace washed over Meg.
Two months later, she summited mount Whitney.
My mind often wanders and revels in how surfing gave Meg everything. And I understand now more than ever that surfing everyday taught her that she can do anything, and stopping surfing every day has actually given her the opportunity to do anything. Nowadays, you’ll still catch Meg out at Deveraux or at home at San-O dancing on the waves, emanating sunshine just as she always has.
What Meg’s story reminds me of is a quote I stumbled on a couple of years ago. The words were those by Jon Krakauer that tenderly read, “There is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”
