“I don’t like this, I want to go back in,” I cried with wide-eyed panic as I was looking up at 9-foot waves, “This isn’t fun anymore and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
It took us significantly longer to make it past the waves crashing on the shore, tumbling a seafloor full of rocks, and flipping you off your board before you had both legs back on. This should have been the first sign that we had absolutely no right to be playing with the Ocean that day.
“Babe, we’re just going to have to duck down and paddle through, it’ll be calmer once we get out there,” my husband demanded/reassured me.
I was still smiling at this point because I was used to shore-waves and rumbling white breaks. The task was simple: just get past the breaks and then BOOM–smooth sailing.
I laid flat on my board, with one ankle up, and paddled with my head down until my arms felt like they were going to fall off as shark bait and I was merely floating over waves, rather than fighting the Ocean telling me to go. back. in.
With pride and a face full of smiles, I turned around, “Hell yeah, we made it! Now what?” Only to find that my husband was nowhere in sight. Between the crashing whitecaps and air thick with mist, it was hard to decipher what was what, but I knew one thing:
I was laying on a board, like a seal on the sea, in wide-open ocean…with no idea how to actually surf, and my husband nowhere in sight. It’s quite funny how panic works, too. My first few thoughts weren’t, “Oh, he’ll make it. I just need to wait. He’s there, it’s just too blurred to see.” They were instead, “He’s dead and I’m in this alone.”
This was the perfect timing for this anxiety-ridden realization, too, because it was this very moment that I noticed how BIG 6-9’ waves are when you’re sitting at the bottom of them, rather than sitting on the shore.
I used to think I was quite adventurous–doing dares, taking the risk that is actually just a dumb decision, and the occasional date (or as I liked to call them: free dinners). Then, I met my husband, who is my one place of physical grounding and safety…and he’s also the man who wants to swim with manta rays, jump out of planes, and surf in storms.
Having grown up in a rural, one-light town in south Georgia and a white, lower middle class family, I wasn’t really provided with opportunities like surf lessons or trips where waves are worth surfing. Our beach vacations were home away from home: small, rural beach towns with nothing to do and everything to fight about, like who’s sleeping where and why people pee without flushing in the middle of the night??
It wasn’t until the ripe old age of 25 that I was presented with a real surf experience: surf lessons in Hawaii, on the Big Island, in crystal clear waters with neon corals and happy sea turtles hanging around, and a professional surf instructor.
You are most likely more similar to one of these two people: me, the ‘Oh, I LOVE this for you, but Imma sit it out’ person, or my husband, the ‘You said swim with sharks? In 2 minutes? OH There was an attack last week but he only lost his leg and that’s rare…okay. Cool, yeah. Full send, let’s do this!’ If you are the latter, this story will be of comedic relief from a pre-beginner. If you are a ‘me’, lol. Hi. I hope these stories will serve as a reminder of how human (and many times necessary) it is to start small and go slow.
Prior to paddling out on my first-ever surfing experience, we met at a small surf shop where we went over a fundamental surf drill: The Pop-Up, which led to a car ride full of giggles with my husband quoting Forgetting Sarah Marshall and the resort surf scene.
We drove to our entry point, hopped out a breezy jet black rental, and met our surf instructor: Landon, an incredibly tan, yellow-honey blonde 23-ish-year-old with piercingly aquamarine eyes, and a rad positive vibes attitude.
My naivety will allow my body to feel in complete safety, when there is someone who ‘knows what they’re doing’ in my direct vicinity, especially when I’m paying them to pay attention to me. So, once Landon led us into crystal clear water with a bright cerulean blue reflection and a literal sea of surfers, my anxiety was at ease.
When Landon took us out, soft wave after soft wave rolled in. Landon kept my mind off the fact a shark could eat me at any point, my husband constantly reminded me how booty-licious I am on a surfboard, and I rode 2 waves in the matter of ~30 minutes! As soon as we climbed the rocks back to civilization as our session came to a close, I was hyperfixated on my new, super cool hobby: surfing, and, in my mind, I was now an intermediate, so let’s rent a board every. single. day.
During our honeymoon, we sadly weren’t presented with another surfing opportunity until our last few days in Hilo, HI, where we were a 5-minute drive to Honoli’l, a popular black sand beach and intense surf spot for locals and vacationers. When we woke up to a loud downpour, I hesitated to agree to renting a board for the day, because I knew I would be freezing, but decided against my own intuition since you only live once, and some people are in Hawaii even less than that.
We threw 2 boards in the back of our rental and headed to Honoli’l with high spirits and prayers it wouldn’t storm, as the sky had not ceased its tears–almost as if it knew the risks of the day–Te Fiti was out for vengeance, not play.
After deciding our quest, we began taking on crashing waves the size of my body (5’4”) that didn’t care your size, what you looked out, or what you knew–She wanted you out. Rather than listening, I pushed through, and paddled, and paddled, and went under, and came up, and paddled, and repeated, until I was so far out the small number of people on shore was now a small army of scattered baby ants.
The Ocean was now presenting waves where my head tilted allllll the way back to see it’s peak, right before it carried me to the top, and passed me off to the next. It wasn’t until this moment that panic set in, as I realized I was in no position to surf 9’+ waves, my second time surfing. I turned to express this to my husband, when it sank in: he’s not out here with me. I had paddled out with my head down, not realizing I was many, many feet and an entire current away from the other surfers, and even then, I couldn’t tell my husband from any of the other floaters–if he was even over there.
In what seemed like hours, but was most likely a solid 5-10 minutes, of crawling waves that towered over me, my husband appeared with a smile and, “Hey, baby! Isn’t this great!?” To which he was quickly greeted with a pre-planned, “I am straight up not having a good time and would like to be not here,” which began our excapadate of getting out of an upset Ocean with a hard head, small lungs, and a lot of love.
As we rolled, sank, and rushed our way closer and closer to shore, I felt my hope on us making it out was dwindling. Logically, I knew this was dramatic and I was going to make it to shore, take a few deep breaths, and end up going somewhere really delicious for dinner. But my heart was freaking tf out. With each pull under, I knew I was staying longer. “Hey, God. Me again, and this isn’t really light surfing weather and I don’t know what I’m doing, so if you could just make sure I drown quickly and it isn’t a slow, horrible death, that’d be cool.”
I was drinking more saltwater than I was breathing air, and it was causing my brain to lose grasp of reality, and contemplate more and more to let it all go. Waves crashed as I rolled off my board and felt my ankle pull with the movement of my board. As soon as I could bring my nose to the surface, the Ocean had already prepared for another defeat.
My husband noticed and, in true hero form, stood solid, feet locked in place, to hold me above many waves so I could catch my breath, many times, and the Ocean washed away every tear falling out of my eyes, almost as a way of saying, “You small, little girl. But this is what you wanted! To surf. To have real waves. To be cool. You ignored how new this is to you and I am here as a reminder.”
Just as 2 lifegaurds began to enter the water, my feet finally hit the decently-level ground with enough time to run onto shore before another wave set me back 3 rolls.
We shed little blood that day, but I was vibrantly surprised I made it out without any real harm, besides, you know, a little trauma. And after lowering my heart rate and catching my breath, I had this overwhelming feeling of gratitude for my aliveness, and then the not knowing, and learning to still trust out of respect.
I am reminded that surfing, not just pro, really good surfing, but every day, regular surfing is a skill, and one that I can learn, the same way I have learned the incredibly long list of skills I have in my toolbox brain. But, I must respect what I know AND don’t know about surfing, water, life, and the earth to be true, before I can fully embrace the release, reward, and rejuvenation this new skill will bring.
When I finally made it to that black-sand shore on Honol’il, I had two options:
- Stay scared, literally throw in my towel, and quit.
- Start slow. Keep trying and get better. Gain confidence. Deepen trust. Surf.
This was the moment I made the decision to pursue surfing, whatever that meant for me.
Fast forward a few months later and a few hundred dollars less 😅, I now have my own surfboard, wetsuit, and mad respect for the power of the Ocean. I’m not ‘good’, and I rarely even try to stand up again (yet).
I’ve begun to form a solid routine of showing gratitude for my aliveness, the opportunity to play with the Ocean, and every Divine moment that had to happen to lead me to the water’s edge, once again.
Before I even dip my toes into the water on a surf day, I thank Her, the Ocean. I thank Her for Her beauty, and ability to wash away even the deepest feelings. I thank Her for giving me the opportunity to surf, and for presenting a way to strengthen our trust and play together, in a safe, casual, and light way.
I remind Her that there is no pressure on ‘good waves’ or ‘surfable’ moments. And that it is an honor to be invited in. Then, as of right now, I lay on my board, paddled out, and…
Vibe. 🌊
I lay on my board, with not even the smallest intention to actually surf.
And yet I can say, with confidence, these days are when the most progress has been made within my surfing journey.
The small, gradual moments, thoughts, and actions I take towards understanding the Ocean more, gaining more comfort and confidence with the power She brings, and finding myself falling more and more in love with the concept of surfing…
These are where immense growth lies.
For some, surfing means chasing waves. So for me, right now, surfing is lying on a board and talking to the Ocean. Thanking the World for its breathtaking moments and lessons on unlearning.
With a world fixated on a hustle culture, always in the fast-line lifestyle, the process of learning how to surf, even in the very pre-pre-beginning stages of learning to trust the unknown, reminds me the biggest impact always lies in what happens in the tiniest of moments.
And for that, I’m immensely thankful.
-Jess
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart to take the time to read this essay. I appreciate you. <3
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