This Past Week I Was Chewed Up and Spit Out...
And I'd do it all over again.
Let me back up.
A few months ago, my former roommate and a good friend texted me saying he was planning to visit his mom in the Azores, the cluster of Portuguese islands and asked if I would like to join him.
His only request? He wanted to surf.
Since I’ve been getting into surfing this past year, I was more than thrilled to reunite with him as well as get a chance to practice.
Little did I know that surfing in the Azores was different than surfing in the calm warm waters of Costa Rica or the beginner-friendly long breaks I’d surfed earlier this year in Morocco.
Still, I was hopeful that I would at least get to ride a few waves over the course of the next three days.
To those who have never surfed, you might not realize how much of a mental game surfing is. Not only do you have overcome the physical fears:
Jelly fish stings
Getting pulled into a rip current or crushed by a giant wave
Crashing into other surfers
Breaking your board
And oh, injuring your one and only body in a plethora of ways…
But you’ve got to overcome the fear of letting yourself down, of not pushing your growth edges, of spending the whole day out there and not catching one single wave — a surprisingly harsh blow to the ego.
Riding the Wave
BEFORE
AFTER
The first day we went out, I was hopeful. The sun was shining and the excitement was bubbling. Despite the slight rip current, I caught a few waves and was happy with my performance overall. The second day I was equally hopeful. Despite my enthusiasm though, I failed to catch anything of value. The truth was my body was exhausted from the day before and my power was diminishing, and the waves, well they were either non existent or too powerful for me to attempt. Still though, I had a great day. My friend and I spent most of the day goofing around in the water and laughing like little kids. “Surfing is much more fun with friends,” my bud remarked. I agreed.
The third day, my friend and I were completely depleted. We contemplated not going altogether but decided to just stay a short time since we’d already pre-paid for our board rentals.
After slathering up in sunscreen and attempting to make it past the break without success, I had an idea - I would get some advice from a qualified local.
“Which part of the beach is best for surfing, today?” I asked the lifeguard.
“Are you beginner?” he replied.
“Yes,” I answered sheepishly.
He glances up and down the beach and then answers, “Today is not really for beginners, I’m sorry.”
I walked away feeling less hopeful and more tired than before. I decided to wait and observe the water for a while next to my friend.
Eventually, my friend stood up and started walking towards the water looking determined. He calls out to me; “We are both going to catch one great wave and then we are going to go home.” Peer pressure never really goes away even when you are gliding into middle age so I stand up and follow him out. My friend seems to quickly maneuver past the break.
“If I could just get out past the break, I’ll be fine”, I ration.
If only it were that easy. Over and over the powerful waves continue to roll in. One and then another.
Then a large wave comes out of nowhere and slams me right in the face.
I debate whether I should attempt to go out further or just go back to shore to wait some more. Little did I know I was directly in the “washing machine” aka the rip current. No way in, no way out.
Still, though, I keep fighting. That’s when I see my friend start paddling towards a wave. He then turns his board around, stands up at the right time and seems to glide effortlessly through the air like some sort of sea god. I was equally proud, and jealous. I wanted that too. “WOOOO!!” I cry out.
I paddle harder and try to clear my intrusive thoughts.
“Nicole, you are safe. There are plenty of people here who could save you if something went wrong. A little water won’t kill you. Hell, you have already inhaled half this ocean, a little more won’t hurt you.”
I get on my belly and look over my shoulder to see if a wave is coming. A wave is indeed coming and it looked big. I quickly position my body on the board making sure my toes are near the edge, but not too far.
I can hear the rumble of the wave fast approaching behind me.
“Oh, shit” I murmur.
I start paddling ferociously, but I don’t even have a chance to stand up because at that exact second, I am thrown violently into the water below and my board shoots out in the other direction but gets snapped back by the leash wrapped snuggly around my ankle. I can feel my body twisting and turning like a discarded rag doll. Which way is up which way is down - I have no idea.
I feel my spine being thrusted forcefully into a C-shape underneath the water and all the nerves in my back cry out in unison. As scary as this moment is, I remind myself to stay calm, and that this too shall pass.
I follow the light from the sun until my head is once again above water. I instinctively check to see if another wave is nearing. Nothing yet. I breathe a sigh of relief.
The salty sea water pours out of my nose and mouth. I blow out the remaining sea water and wiggle my way back on the board.
I start paddling out once again.
You may be wondering, why the hell I would get back on that board.
That’s a good question, one I have asked myself many times - why am I doing this?
Aside from the healthy surfer lifestyle I am in the process of adopting, I’ve landed that surfing is a “safe” place for me to strengthen my root chakra, develop a sense of safety and belonging, and gain confidence and empowerment. (“Safe” is in quotations because that presumes I am in water which matches my skill level and ability.)
Like many others who have had insecure upbringings (latchkey kids, kids of divorced parents, kids of parents who’ve endured sexual abuse, kids raised in poverty, etc.) my lower chakras are weaker - making it hard for me to feel safe in any environment (unless of course I have complete control over the variables.) I am known to bring a sleep mask, ear plugs, pillow, fuzzy socks, magnesium, and noise-canceling headphones to sleepovers (yes, even the sexy ones) for example.
But out there in the water, I have very little control of the variables. Instead, I have to rely on my own strength, determination, and intuition to keep me safe. These are just a few questions that run through my mind when I am out there:
How much of the fear I am currently feeling is valid and how much has been ingrained in me because of my gender or insecure upbringing?
How much physical power do I have left?
How much fun am I having?
By answering these questions, I can either choose to self-soothe, attune to my physical needs, quiet my fears, or push my growth edges. The ocean is my therapist who subtly and sometimes not so subtly humbles me, who fiercely encourages me to take risks but ever so gently reminds me of the consequences of doing so.
The ever-so-wise ocean even guides me when I am out of the water.
In the car ride home, I can’t help but feel defeated emotionally and depleted physically. I feel I let myself down. But then tears well up in my eyes and my loving compassionate inner voice pipes in, “Nicole, you tried something new. You are physically tired. It’s ok to be tired. You are learning a new skill. This takes time. You are doing a great job.” I feel a calmness wash over me as the letdown I felt seconds before gently melts away.
Later that evening, a good friend of mine sends me the following meme of an Olympic surfer.
The German Olympian had been knocked off a wave and his swim trunks had fallen off as he was diving under the water, thus exposing his rear in the air on international television. My friend wrote, “Even Olympians get knocked down by waves.”
I write back, “HAHA, thanks I really needed this today.”
Sharing it here now, because maybe you do too.
