You want to clear the clutter in that noggin? Paddle out. Photo: Patrick Langwallner
Because of a nagging injury, I can’t go on long runs anymore, the kind of runs where, five or six miles in, sweat gathers on your skin and your brain begins to dry out and slow down. Running used to help me destress, kick on those endorphins, but most importantly, the trail or road was where my mind was allowed to explore the issues at hand, to weigh out variables, to find solutions — to, often subconsciously, think things through.
Surfing has replaced that.
Of course, it depends on the conditions. Out here where I surf, aside from a few fun runs of swell, we’ve had a lot of small, chill days, the days where we pack as much volume as we can and Surfline tells us to “keep expectations low.” As opposed to bigger swell cycles, these days bring about a different experience: less competition and anxiety, less paddling around at a fevered pitch and banking on the next set wave — and more mellowness. The only perceived threat is a sunburn, maybe a stingray zap because the water never got cold this year.
As I sit in between waves, my mind spins dusty gears without me knowing. My brain works on multiple problems, and answers silent questions as the tides pull in and out and the waves crash like gentle cymbals. I’m not splitting the atom here, but for example, the other day, I left the water after an hour and knew how to finish a piece of writing I’d been working on for a couple of weeks. By not thinking about it, and just going surfing, I discovered I could see the ending, clear as my white feet under the glassy green surface. It doesn’t matter what it is: family or relationship stress, career fear, money woes, trying to finish a piece of writing or music, even dog concerns. The ocean heals in some strange way that I’ve never quite figured out.
Part of it may just be the presence of the ocean. Many studies have shown that our health is impacted in myriad ways by the deep blue. We find a sense of awe, not to mention perspective and calm, by staring out at the endless horizon of water. We feel connected to something larger, especially based on our physical makeup: humans are 60-70 percent water. The minerals in the sea, such as magnesium, seep into our blood and bones. Our red and white blood cells get a boost, our lungs enjoy the clearing sea mist, our skin becomes rinsed clean by salt and sand. Whether it’s the blue mind effect or the physical factors, humans have welcomed the healing aspects of the sea for generations, and I suspect this all contributes to the clarity the ocean provides, the way it helps us simplify our thoughts.
In many ways surfing’s service to our minds and souls is similar to meditation, though I’m not sure I’m able to speak to that with any sense of gravitas. I meditate daily, or try to, and have been at it for a few years, but I can’t speak with authority about meditating, and it still challenges me. However, I can testify that the days I do not meditate, even for a few minutes, I feel different: more stressed, tense, and sometimes irritable. My fuse is usually noticeably shorter.
When I don’t surf, I feel the same tensing in my brain. Similar to surfing, a brief block of meditation also seems to summon solutions and answers from the back of my mind, perhaps because I’m not actively dwelling on the issue. Instead, I’m allowing my mind to cycle freely, in the same way the way swells form and reform, cycle and fluctuate, and roll and crash, over and over.
Another reason that I think surfing helps regulate and improve our mental states is more philosophical in nature. If surfing does one thing well, it continually offers us a new sense of possibility. For how many sessions have you sat, waiting, hoping, nearly willing a wave to appear from the choppy onshore surf? Today, I paddled out at the height of the afternoon slop, because it was my only window. The tide was drained out, the wind was onshore and a constant bother, and it was one of those days when you get out there, and then realize that the waves looked better, 1) on the cam, 2) from the beach, and 3) in your idealistic mind.
However, I continually searched for new possibilities. I paddled all over the place. I squinted my sun-drenched eyes and thought I saw a peak forming out of the chaos. I’m not going to say that suddenly, a perfect, barreling a-frame emerged — it didn’t. But a rideable wave ultimately came through, and rewarded me for getting out there. That feeling of a new and unexpected possibility sometimes makes the average wave feel as though it’s a perfect six-foot wall.
Based on the very nature of the sport, surfers are searching for new possibilities, new waves and setups. We do this when we chart out a map to a new spot, travel, or simply head out to our local in search of a few fun ones. In the midst of some sessions, things change. We can be complaining, or glum about the conditions; but by the end, the angles have changed, or begun to change, and everything — the vibe, the sky, the water, the opportunities presented by the new tide, or lessening wind — is new and different.
The idea that the ocean, the conditions, the weather is always changing is one of my favorite things about surfing. However, the key is to look deeper at this idea that things always change, even if on that day, they do not. That there is the possibility of something you’ve not yet considered emerging – this is what keeps many of us coming back for more.
Sometimes we sit out there and nothing really great materializes. If a great wave, the type of ride you’ll remember hours later, arrived every session, we’d be conditioned to it. Perhaps we’d be bored, or, we’d just remember that we’d paddled out into a wave pool. However, out beyond the chlorine, the possibility of something great happening is a constant.
It might not.
But, it might.
And when it does, our physical selves and our brains click into overdrive. When we’re sitting there on an average or below-average day, and then a swell stands up on the horizon, it’s like a gift from the water gods, or the sky — or both. It’s bigger than us, and it also eliminates all other thoughts from our conscious mind. Our only aim is to paddle, to search for the right spot, to get into position.
Picture it. There’s no one around because everyone took one look at the waves and went to the coffee shop or the golf course or back to work. You went out, and for the first hour, you were wondering about your judgement. Now, though, you’ve been given a wave, an experience, a ride that will blot out everything else with its grace and speed, with the demands it puts on your body, the timing you inherently have, the curl of your toes across the wax on the deck.
You’re moving. You’re grateful. And your mind spins away somewhere else, to solve some problems, to ruminate, to meditate, or just to take a break from the constant hum of modern society.
Then you kick out. There’s no question now: you’re paddling out for another one.
And your brain will thank you.
