“I have watched the sun both wake and set, endless times, and each time it ripples off the glass surface of the ocean, I know that I have found my church.” Photo: Shutterstock
“What are you doing all the way over there?” A surfer called across the waves, startling me. I was far out of the lineup. I was so far from the peak I might as well have been in the parking lot. I sat on the only board I owned at the time, a Costco foam board purchased on impulse for $100. All summer I had dragged my board to the beach and sat on shore watching. I was too intimated by all the other surfers to paddle out myself. But, that day, I did it. And now there was another surfer calling me out.
“Come over here,” he shouted again. I wasn’t sure what to do. I gulped. I paddled over. This was the start of my very first year learning to surf. This would be my first introduction to one of the many surfers who would take me in and become my friend and mentor.
“Surfing is about aggression.” A young surfer said this to me the other day during a session. I could only smile. I waited patiently for the perfect wave, looked right and left, and then popped up quickly. I dropped left, a move that I was still perfecting, and I started to fly. Backside still isn’t easy for me, so when I caught the face and rode down the line I couldn’t help but giggle. My first year surfing hasn’t been about aggression. There were moments that were gritty. There was an early summer session where I cracked my face on my board, glued it shut, and surfed the next 4 hours beaten up and bloody. I ended up needing 17 stitches. I experienced the stern reprimands of more experienced surfers when I accidentally dropped in on them, learning a thing or two about etiquette and board control. I experienced towering frustration as stronger surfers snaked my waves knowing I was tentative in the lineup. I got held under on a particularly cold January day, and panicked as my leash wrapped around my neck. For the first months I surfed, I did nothing but pearl. And, I still get the occasional sense of embarrassment when I make the mistake of popping up to my knees instead of my feet. There is no doubt; my first year surfing was a challenge, but it is also the accumulation of moments that are tandem to magic.
I bought a 9 foot long board, and a passport around the same time last year. Since then, I’ve traveled to six countries. I stayed in small hostels, and met intrepid strangers from across the globe. We shared peaks in the morning and beers and ceviche in the afternoon. At home I’ve made best friends at my local break. We make beach bonfires and high five each other in the lineup. They have been patient, and encouraging with me. They shared their wave and their expertise.
I’ve experienced the raw power and beauty of nature. There are turtles and dolphins that pop out of the water like magic tricks on balmy summer afternoons, and quiet snowflakes that fall as I walk along deserted beaches at Christmas time, shivering with both the cold and the anticipation of perfect rides. I have watched the sun both wake and set, endless times, and each time it ripples off the glass surface of the ocean, I know that I have found my church.
My body is relearning its limits. There are muscles in my arms that were never there before, my skin is golden, and my heart is stretched to capacity.
No, surfing is not about aggression. For me, it’s about beauty, friendship, and the search for quiet reflection in myself. When I surf, I lose all sense of myself. Time ceases and I empty myself out into the ocean. On days I surf, I’m calmer, happier, and more laid back at my job. That calm is definitely tested when there is a swell and I am landlocked, or worse, when the ocean won’t cooperate and goes flat for extended periods. This is when my fortitude shakes. But, I reassure myself that there is a wave waiting somewhere in the world for me, and my mission is to find it.
“What are you doing over there?” A year ago, I was called out. Timid and unsure, I sat on a ridiculous foam board and tried desperately to keep it from slipping out from under me. Now I have the start of a small quiver. I used to stand on the beach and be intimated by the beautiful boys arching their backs and charging with power and grace in the water. Now they call my name and smile when I paddle into the lineup.
A year ago, I had never traveled outside of the United States, and now my passport is thick with stamps from foreign countries. But most importantly, I have found a sense of self and spirit. The kook I was, emerged into a woman that is fearless, and wild. She pushes her body, and her mind. She is sublimely happy. I didn’t know that happiness like this existed. But now that I have found it, I want to spread it to others.
