Amor Fati and Surfing Grief

what if the woefully non-ideal is also exactly what we need?

Since my divorce in December, I’ve been barreling my way through most of the items you’d expect on a Divorcée Bingo card; in June I even got an ankle tattoo.

I had been on my solo train trip, sipping on kombucha in San Diego, when I felt the urgent need to get a permanent reminder of the phrase “amor fati” accompanied by its symbol of a flame. Following …