Surfing Analyzed

I'm in Hawaii.  I've just wrapped up a 2 day conference sitting in an auditorium....inside.  It's 5 PM on a Friday and I fly out back to the mainland early in the morning.  I've been in meetings all week and have yet to enjoy any of the sensory pleasures that one enjoys when they are in Hawaii.

I feel the regret begin to seep through my capillaries.  "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" my body screams.  "YOU'RE IN HAWAII, BUT YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY BE IN BETHESDA.  EXPERIENCE YOUR ENVIRONMENT!!  THERE WILL BE TIME TO SIT IN ANOTHER CONFERENCE ROOM WHEN YOU GET HOME!!"

I power down my laptop, pack my notepad away filled with forecasts, trends, and a handful of interesting numbers I will soon forget and I fully accept my new mission of immersion.  Flee the scene, shirts get untucked, and I am back in my hotel room with a sense of purpose.

Seconds after the door closes behind me, clothes are gone.  I can no longer be encumbered by buttons, belts, deadlines.  Primal caveman mode has kicked in.  I grab the essentials (cash, my ID), begrudgingly put on my swim trunks and make my way through the lobby shirtless, shoeless and on my way to the closest surf shop.

I exchange paper with a merchant and he agrees to let me borrow his finest apparatus for 2 hours.  I walk through the tourist-trap that is Waikiki with a sense of "look at these corporate drones" and I'm in the water in less than 6 minutes (or 1.8 Jack Johnson songs.)

I've never surfed before, but that doesn't seem to concern me as much as it probably should.  I can snowboard and wakeboard and am filled with the arrogance of a typical American male.  I'm resigned to the fact that I may fall a couple times, but I'm sure I'll be a pro by wave 5.

Mother Nature and Experience are a humbling combination.

The waves aren't particularly "epic" this evening, but don't let me convince you that was the only thing holding me back.  I discovered pretty quickly that my balance was nowhere near where I thought it was.  After paddling out to the waves, most people calmly straddle their boards, relax and wait for a wave to approach that they think will be worth pursuing.  My approach is more of a sloppily slap my way out to a spot I think looks about right and try to look graceful as I convulse back and forth like I've got the only board that is possessed by an despotic, mechanical bull.  While everyone else enjoys their quiet, self-reflecting, zen moments, I'm flailing around like a panicked hen.

When the occasional cease-fire between my cerebellum and surf board takes place and I'm able to serenely sit on my board like a sane person, I wait for waves to come at me and lift me into surfing folklore.  "There was this guy, right.  He was this surfing prodigy that couldn't stay on his board when it was still, but when he got up on a wave.... oh bruddah, watch out.  That mainlander could carve!"

"Wave" I've discovered is its own separate language.  And I don't know how to read it.  It is truly an art to know where to position yourself and be able to sense with your soul when a wave is going to grow into something worth pursuing.  As I paddled around like an idiot chasing inconsequential swells down with maximum effort, the locals just sit and calmly wait.  I spend the next 90 minutes misjudging my reads and marveling at those around me that seem to be making something out of nothing.  People are popping up all around me riding the water with ease.  If the winner is the chef that makes the best dish with the same ingredients, then I'm in trouble...

I spend the last 20 minutes on the water trying to appreciate the moment for what it was, reflecting on how this experience could be an allegory for my own life, and worrying that with all the splashing around I'm doing a shark would obviously pick me as the fattest, slowest, most vulnerable seal.

I decide to paddle in and find myself lingering 20 yards from shore where a paid instructor is giving his pupils some basic tips.  I make a pact with myself that next time the $30 investment for a lesson will be worth the price.  He flashes me a quick, "You going to pay for this brah?" look.  I continue my paddle to shore.

I come out of the water humbled by the ass-kicking, but grateful for the opportunity.  I take a couple steps and put my chin up.  I realize something.  No matter how pathetic my attempts were out there in the surf, everyone looks the same walking out of the water to the people that are stationed safely on the beach.  I'm wet and I have a surfboard under my arm, who the hell knows how well I did out there beside me?  I went out there and gave it a shot, the people on land watched.  We are all bound by the same limits of ability, our willingness to test those limits is what differentiates us.

I catch the eye of a cute tourist.  She smiles.

"How was your day?"  the shop owner asks as I return my board.

"No regrets," I grin in reply.