Surfing

Dear Eduardo,

This might sound a little strange, but I actually like feeling small. You know that feeling you get when you see a ton of stars on a clear night and stare out into the endless cosmos, or gaze upwards at a skyscraper from the sidewalk? The moment where the scale of how small I am compared to the vastness of something bigger suddenly clicks, and a cocktail of awe, fear, and unimportance washes over me. I like that. I like the surrender to being a powerless observer.

My favorite way to chase this feeling is by surfing.

When I was a kid, I liked surfing because it was cool. I watched extreme-sports shows on TV like the X-Games or Rocket Power and the boyish danger-seeking aesthetic appealed to me. But now, as an adult, I don’t think it’s danger or coolness I’m chasing when I paddle out anymore. I’ve stopped trying to get good at it so that I could impress people, and I’ve come to accept how objectively uncool I look with my wobbly stance and zinc on my nose. Instead, what I chase is this ‘smallness’ feeling.

Think of the ritual of it all. You start by standing on the beach and hearing a distant roar of crashing waves hundreds of yards away. You then strap yourself to a chunk of fiberglass and, against your sense of self-preservation, you jump into the water looking to get closer to that sound. Paddling out is a heck of a workout, and you’re constantly getting blasted in the face by foamy salt water while gasping for air. Each crash sends you a bit further backwards towards the shore, as if the waves are telling you “go back to where you’re safe.” But if you keep going and paddle through it all, eventually you’ll crest atop a wave before it breaks and find yourself sitting up on your board beyond the breakers catching your breath.

This spot is my new favorite place in the world. Instead of violence, the swells gently lift you up and ease you back down as they roll like giants beneath you. They pass by without having so much as shifted by my presence, like I’m not even there. The safety of shore and roaring breakers are behind me now, and in front of me is endless ocean where life on earth first began millions of years ago.

I’ve noticed something about the more experienced surfers I come across: they’re staying in this spot too. They’re not racing to catch every wave possible in as short a time as possible. They sit quietly here for a long while, 20 minutes even without even trying to catch any waves. They’re gazing out at the open ocean just like I am. It’s not long before the ocean will remind me that I’m a visitor in someone else’s home by sending a greeter.

I’ve seen all manner of sea life while in this spot, big and small. I’ve seen fish, seals, sea-lions, turtles, dolphins, and even a few small bitey-fish––which is my word for sharks because it makes them seem less scary. They’re often curious about me, but otherwise are just going about their day. With no aquarium glass to separate us, I am very much at the mercy of their preferences. I’m a guest, and their house means their rules. Meanwhile the swells continue to gently lift me and drop me by 4 or 5 feet while I gaze out at the endless depth. I’ll admit that occasionally I feel a pang of Thalassophobia, wondering what creatures are looking at me from below me that I’ll never see. The Japanese call this feeling Ifū (畏怖), which is the combination of the words for “awe/respect” and “fear”. But I’ve come to enjoy both of those feelings while paddling out, especially when I spot a wave that looks friendly.

I’ve heard surfers describe waves in two different ways. Sometimes it’s with technical terms like ’left point break’ or ‘close-out’ that describe their shape and movement. The other way gives the waves a personality. They’ll use words like ‘playful’, ‘snarky’, or ‘angry’, all of which describe the wave as if it were another ocean creature. I used to think that the pros never wipe out; that falling off your board was a sign of inexperience. But in reality, even the pro’s are at the mercy of the wave’s personality. If that wave wants them in the water, that’s where they’ll go. The moment I spot a wave I’d like to catch, that personality becomes clear.

This is the moment of payoff. I pick a wave, hope it’s friendly, paddle like crazy to catch it, and it picks me up like all the others did, this time pushing me forward. It’s not a rush of adrenaline that washes over me when I pop up on my feet, but rather gratitude mixed with release. The wave’s face is smooth and calming under my feet rather than violent and dismissive like it was paddling out. Standing up tall, I suddenly feel like the wave’s friend rather than an insignificant ant to be squashed. I can reach out with my inside hand and give it a pat; a ’thank you’ for allowing me to accompany it on the last yards of its thousand-mile journey. I imagine swimming next to a whale feels similar; I’m at this thing’s mercy, and it’s choosing to to share some time with me rather than run or fight.

I wipeout, because of course I do. Skill still matters a bit in that regard. I tumble and roll and protect my head with my arms before I pop back up above the surface next to my board. I watch as the wave continues on without me, thankful for the few moments I had with it. I’m back in the rapids, so it’s time to quickly paddle back through the chaos and back to my favorite spot to do it all again. Hours tick by, and if it weren’t for my need to drink water and re-apply sunscreen, I could stay out there all day. It’s darn near impossible to think about my regular worries while I’m out there. In the face of such vastness and scale, how could I even think that my schedule or my next deadline matter? I’m so small, and so are all those things too.

Some life-advice I received from someone smarter than me was the following: “You should have hobbies that keep you fit, keep you creative, and keep you social.” On the surface, surfing fits the first of these. But after spending time out in the water, I think I’d add a fourth criteria to this advice: You should maintain hobbies that keep you fit, keep you creative, keep you social, and keep you small.