The Surfer's Gift
When things go wrong — like really wrong — as they inevitably will in our lives — who should we look to? What sort of person has the chemistry to stare in the face of tragedy, grief, sorrow and adversity and stay totally composed? More and more I’m convinced that some of the best at this are surfers.
I myself am not the greatest when it comes to “not sweatin’ the small stuff.” I have been given nicknames like “T-Stress” and “Crisis” by colleagues who watch as I battle with the daily stresses of adult life with its deadlines and influxes of (relatively) minor complications. I stress about late-replying to text messages, this newsletter going out a day or two late, my unorganized computer, parking lots, finances, Docusigns, crowds, packing, insurance, traffic, coordinating, calling people back and all matters of the daily struggle that are really, not that big of a deal. But when it comes to operating under the worst circumstances, I somehow manage myself far better and calmer than I do when running 5 minutes late to the dentist or receiving an ill-timed email.
I think this has to do with surfing. When we paddle out for a surf, everything is sort of going wrong. It’s not exactly fight or flight every session, but our odds in the vast ocean when you really think about it are…not great. For one, watch a human swim. We look ridiculous. Being in the water, especially in comparison to the creatures that actually live there, is a totally ridiculous endeavor. Even Mark Cunningham looks goofy when you compare him to a seal. We’re awkward and look like something struggling or dying from the get-go. Give us a surfboard — and while still clumsy — we at least have something to sit on while the ocean does its thing around us. That moment sitting quietly out the back, monklike in the open ocean, is when we open the surfers’ gift.
When we enter the ocean we’re recalibrated and humbled. Every time we paddle out things slow down. We have no choice but to block out periphery noise, I mean, we’re demoted to the bottom of the food chain. Distraction and the insignificant things like email and life on land, go away completely. I often joke that surfing and showering are the only time I reconnect with my brain sans technology and it’s only in those places I can deep-think. There is not an idea that I’ve had of any value that wasn’t hatched in the ocean or while having a shower.
When we’re in the water, all the noise of life is replaced by the potential perils and joys of a surf session. Mounds of white water and rogue sets must be accounted for. Rocks and reefs, other surfers, creatures and waves dominate our attention. We go into crisis mode every session over and over for those few blissful seconds in which we’re actually riding free on the face of a wave.
This is our gift. And if you’re able to sit out the back in the ocean on your board and feel calm despite the vast infinity and unknown below and can find peace in a realm we honestly have no business being in, well you are blessed with it too. Use it to your advantage. Provide comfort in dire situations to those who can’t slow down during tough times.
I’ve unfortunately had to use our gift the past few weeks more times than I’d like. It’s a superpower I prefer to lay dormant — I’m happy to acknowledge and celebrate it without needing it. I’m totally fine being Clark Kent and never needing to find a phone booth. I will take being T-Stress or Crisis every day over needing to wield our gift. But rogue sets are inevitable and there isn’t a single person who will tell you the best way through is to panic. We all know to calmly grab some breath and sink under and into the chaos until the wave eventually passes. Which it inevitably and eventually will.—Travis Ferré
[Above art: The Shipwreck, J.M.W. Turner, circa 1805]
