Lessons in Life from a bad surfer

I’m not a good surfer, but I do it everyday. Living a block from the beach, one feels compelled to engage with the ocean on her terms as often as possible. I told a surf instructor once that my goal was not to be a good surfer, it was just to “suck less”. As I’ve surfed at dawn, every day, for months, I’ve found that surfing holds useful lessons for life. The hardest part of surfing for me is popping up. I hesitate. I’m great at reading waves and positioning myself well to catch a wave as it breaks, but once I catch it, I pause, I hesitate with the move to my feet.

Such it is with life. I can read situations well. I understand a great many things and I know where to go to make things happen, but I hesitate in pulling the trigger and making the hard, exposing move of standing up. Making the tough decision sucks.

Surfing, like life is poorly named. Someone once told me that surfing should really be called “paddling”, because 90% of the time you are just struggling against the surf, doing battle against a relentless scourge of waves in hopes of putting yourself in that momentary position of joy when you can catch a wave. And when you do catch the wave, you have an instant to make that brave move to expose yourself. To jump, against all odds, to your delicately balanced feet and hope that you can stay there for some delicious moments as the world crashes down…