Why Do I Surf?

Presence over Performance.

Today, I surfed. The conditions were messy, and yet, I did well—sort of.

Yesterday was different. The waves were glassy, perfectly formed, and peeling beautifully. Everyone did great, I didn’t catch a single wave.

Yesterday was a lesson in humility. Today, during a very challenging paddle out, I felt strong and even a little brave.

That is the beauty of the ocean; it finds a new way to teach me something every single day!

There is good news for me: we have just entered the “small wave season.“

While the pros head to other beaches in search of bigger swells, you will find me right here. I’ll be out there in waves so small it sometimes feels like surfing on a lake—and I couldn’t be happier.

I have been part of the “SWS - Small Waves Surfers team” on and off, for almost a decade. You might assume that after ten years, I’d be a pro. That is definitely not the case.

If you look at me from the shore, I am not a technical surfer. But if you could see inside, you would see a myriad of personal challenges met and insights gathered over a decade of paddling out.

I no longer measure my improvement by my maneuvers, or how many waves I caught; I measure it by what I learn about myself and nature every time I’m out there.

If my goal were to become a high-performance surfer, I would have quit years ago.

In fact, at least twice a year, I tell myself, “I’m never doing this again.” When I’m sitting in the lineup and a larger set rolls in, I find myself making deals with the universe: “If I survive this set, I promise I’m staying on dry land.” And yet, I always come back.

Why?

Because I never started surfing to be admired for my grace.

I started because I struggled with fear, anxiety, and a desperate need to control things I simply couldn’t. Surfing became my medicine. It is my “exposure therapy.”

Every time I paddle out, I am reminded that I have zero control over the external world. I am reminded that I belong to something much larger and more powerful than myself.

In the water, I am exposed, but I am also held.

I have learned to respect that energy, to admit when I am afraid of it, and ultimately, to realize I am deeply connected to it.

I don’t surf just for the glory of a great ride. I surf for the opportunity to be out there—observing, contemplating, and simply being.

Isn’t that what life is truly about? Training ourselves to exist in the present moment?

There is a beautiful community in the water. When the endorphins are flowing, people are in a state of joy, for themselves and for others.

We cheer for each other. We cheer for the local who dances gracefully across a six-foot face, and we cheer for the person who finally catches a wave and rides it in a straight line toward the shore.

We celebrate together because, at its core, the experience of surfing gives you, for a few seconds, a state of pure presence and bliss. We’ve all touched that feeling. We know it. And that shared knowing connects us.

We share the same ocean, yet we each have our own deeply personal journey within it.

I’ve come to realized that I spend 95% of my time in the water contemplating, waiting, paddling, and there’s lots of struggling—and only 5% (or less) actually riding. But that small window is where you experience what being alive truly feels like.

Spending time in nature—observing the wave patterns, watching the sunset, feeling the salt water on my skin while waiting for the next move—is the greatest gift I can give myself.

That’s why I Surf! It turns out, I didn’t need to master the waves; I just needed to show up for them.

And you? Why do you surf?