“I really need to just go ahead and buy that thicker wetsuit already”, I tell myself as I begin to paddle out into the dark Pacific. It’s 6:15 in the morning and there’s only enough light to make out the faint lines of the sea. My first wave is a polar plunge of sorts and it wakes me up far quicker than the sixteen-ounce cup of coffee I drank this morning. As I make my way past the breaking waves, I’m able to prop myself up on my board and wait for the next set. As I sit for what seems like an eternity, my mind wanders.
I come to the realization that surfing is not a hobby for me, but a necessity. My connection to surfing has become a spiritual one, and one that I’m unable to turn my back on, regardless of the situation. Outsiders see it as a sport, but it’s far more than that. Surfing has become an artistic medium for me. One that is more fulfilling and dynamic than any sort of art I have ever encountered. I’m able to clearly express my emotions and myself through the way I surf than in any other form of communication.
I come to the realization that surfing is not a hobby for me, but a necessity. My connection to surfing has become a spiritual one, and one that I’m unable to turn my back on, regardless of the situation.
The gallery of my art is forever changing and extremely daunting but at the very same time, unimaginably beautiful. The board I have under my feet was shaped with my own hands from a block of foam with a piece of cedar in the middle. My canvas makes me feel the most peaceful and euphoric sensations I have ever known and will just as quickly remind me of what it is capable of.
Surfing is my art form and my life coach. And its most important lesson to date: no matter what knocks you down, and how long it may hold you under, if you just keep swimming, the surface will come, and you may just get the ride of your life along the way.