The day surfing crushed my soul
Written by Lauren Burgess
May 28, 2024
Instagram: A 30-something (38 to be exact, but 30-something sounds cooler I guess) sitting on her Almond[1]longboard[2][3] having just paddled in from another mid-morning surf, taking a moment to bask in the breathtaking ocean view she seemingly has all to herself.
Reality: The day I quit surfing.
Everyone has bad days.
“I’ve had days where I don’t catch a single wave.”
“Surfing will humble you.”
“It just takes consistency.”
“You’ll get it, it takes time.”
“Surfing is hard.”
“You have to be in the perfect spot to catch a wave.”
“It’s scary, but it’s just water.”
“Each time you suck less and less.”[4]
If you’ve surfed, you’ve likely heard these words of encouragement and you’ve probably even said them to someone else having their off day in the lineup.[5] I hear these words often and most days I’m thankful for them. I nod in agreement, do my best to muster a smile, and say something like “I’m just happy to be out in the water.” At one point, that was a true statement. Now, I’m not so sure.
The truth is surfing is the most humbling act I’ve ever experienced. I’ll admit, I do a pretty good job of protecting myself from humiliation in my day-to-day life. Something I became quite skilled at as a child growing up in a household where feelings were masked by sarcasm and laughter filled spaces where empathy belonged. Every misstep was an opportunity for comic relief. It was humbling, humiliating, and hurtful. It was our family’s love language. The reality is, being a human is humbling and often humiliating. I spent every day of my five-year marriage (10-year relationship) pooping on an entirely separate floor of our house. I would just disappear during a commercial break and come back with an inconspicuous snack five to 10 minutes later. On vacation, the first thing I would find is the lobby bathroom just to make sure no one, especially the person who knew and loved me the most, would hear or god-forbid, smell, me be a normal human doing normal human things.
Don’t worry, I’ve since gotten over that one. Now, I live in a van and poop in a compostable toilet every morning while my partner makes coffee six inches away from me with absolutely no shame.
The point is, being a human is humbling, but there are measures you can take to make it feel less humiliating.
Not with surfing.
With surfing, your mistakes are plenty and every single one is in plain sight of every other human in the surrounding waters. With surfing, you just have to take it on the chin. Figuratively and literally. Multiple times, publicly. The ego has no place out in the water. It’s just you, your body, your mind, and a very dangerous yet, lifesaving and life giving, twenty-plus-pound piece of hand-shaped fiberglass[6] designed to propel you to the tops of those tasty waves. And hope. There’s always, hope. Hope that you will be in the exact right position when it’s your turn in the lineup as a perfectly sized wave moves towards you almost like an optical illusion that magically shapes into something you just may be able to paddle into with enough power between you and the wave that it brings you to standing and for one full second, you surf.[7]
That’s all it takes to hook you. Just one wave and your entire life is ruined. You’re forever chasing tasty waves. No vacation is the same. No beach is the same. No conversation is the same. No relationship is the same. Every morning is either surf or no surf. Nothing else. Well maybe coffee, a banana, and an intimate poop. But that’s it.
It’s called stoke and it’s a real thing you can catch. No one warned me and maybe it’s because if they did, I would have avoided it all together. Perhaps instead of writing this on a beach in Baja while my partner is out surfing, I’d be reading a juicy thriller from the side of a pool with no other plans then making a reservation at one of the five restaurants offered at the all-inclusive resort I booked last minute for some late spring relaxation and rejuvenation. Now, there’s either surf or no surf.
Back to this day, in Baja, in a van, with my dog, partner, and our three surf boards.[8]
Just a month ago we moved everything we owned into two storage units in Los Angeles and embarked on the surf trip of our dreams. The plan: To drive down the coast of Baja and catch tasty waves anywhere we can. We’d come back professional long boarders with a new outlook on life and surf. The reality: It had been a month of detours and unfortunate events, and absolutely no surf. Until here. This little beach in Mexico was never a stop on our list, but life led us here and it was the first place we saw actual waves, so we parked the van to scope it out. Four weeks later and we’re still here. There’s surf every day. And almost every day, I wake up with stoke. And almost every day, I paddle into those waters with my partner and a half dozen other surfers. And almost every day, I try to surf. The first few days I didn’t catch any waves. I wasn’t in the right spot and the right spot looked intimidating. It took me time to figure it out, but I continued to paddle out knowing each time, it’ll suck less and less. Eventually, I would paddle out, sit out back past the waves for 10-15 minutes and just watch as I pretended to stretch and meditate and tune in. In reality, I was just working up the courage to go into the danger zone, to make a fool of myself in hopes that I would catch a wave. In hopes that I would surf. And a few times, I did! Most of the time, I would paddle for a wave and it would ever so gracefully pass me by.
“You were too far back.”
“You didn’t paddle hard enough.”
“You need to go for the bigger waves.”
“You’re too far back on your board.”
“You’re too far forward on your board.”
“You should paddle into the wave.”
“Check your position to the wave behind you.”
“Don’t look back, look down the line.”
“Give up. You’re a kook[9] taking up space in the lineup who clearly doesn’t know what she’s doing. Stop embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing to the sport of surf.”
If it wasn’t said out loud, it was said in my head.
I’m strong, both mentally and physically, and I’m as stubborn as they come. I don’t give up when I get down. I keep trying. I keep learning. I keep paddling. I keep going until I get it right. But what happens if you never get it right?
On this day, it had been four weeks of surf. Most days, I was just paddling for waves and not catching a thing. Some days, I would come so close to catching one and on those days, that was enough to keep me paddling. Then, the stoke was reignited.
It was a gloomy morning, but the water was glassy[10] and the waves were humble, about two to three feet high.[11] Perfect for me and my new longboard. I timed my paddle out[12] that day, I don’t know why. Nonetheless, it took me five minutes, but felt like ten. Proud of my athleticism (something I lacked in every sport I’ve ever participated, except for running), I was eager to catch a wave. I sat there on my board, outside of where the waves were breaking and observed[13]. Eventually, they began to form into something that felt like I could paddle into and so, I made my way up to the rock.[14] The very next wave that came looked too good to pass up, a feeling I hadn’t experienced often, but knew that when you feel it, you have no choice but to paddle. Paddle and hope. Today, it worked. Everything lined up as it should, and I caught the wave. Not only that, but I stayed on it. I rode it down the line all the way to shore. I surfed.
The next few days were like the rest. Mostly paddle, some surf. I’m using that term very loosely here. But, I still paddled. Afterall, each time you suck less and less, right? Today, this day, my partner and I paddled out. We were both in good moods, had our coffee, our banana with peanut butter and our pre-surf poop. Boxes were checked, surfboards waxed,[15] leashes in tow,[16] we walked to the surf break. We spent a few minutes stretching and loving on our dog, making sure he had his shade and water. Then, we paddled out to a crowd and were greeted by a few familiar faces, other vanlifers that we met down here.[17] I was feeling good. I sat back and observed for awhile, then I slowly began to make my way positioning myself proudly in the lineup. Afterall, I rode one to the shore the other day. I deserved to be here.
“This one looks good.”
I paddled, but was too far on the shoulder.[18] I paddled back, sat for another ten minutes, and observed. A few more waves came through and one by one, I watched every single person in the water catch a wave. I kept paddling, it was going to be my turn eventually. Eventually, I would get it right. I didn’t. By the tenth wave I paddled for and missed, I was exhausted, humiliated, and defeated. Meanwhile, everyone around me was on their third, fourth, and tenth wave of the day. My wave count remained at zero. I paddled again, I was going to fight for this wave, I was determined. It flipped me over. That’s ok, it happens.
I paddled back to reposition myself near the rock. On my paddle back, I see my partner catch another perfect wave and watch her float away in the distance. I gave her a “yew[19]” and held back my tears. I couldn’t take it anymore. My spirit was broken, along with my heart.
The paddle of shame.
This was the newest surf term I learned while being here in Baja. The paddle of shame is when someone has to paddle back to shore instead of doing what surfers do, ride a wave to shore. Since learning of this term, I’ve done everything I can to avoid the paddle of shame, to avoid further humiliation. But, I couldn’t do it today. I began my paddle in and waved goodbye from the distance. My partner began to paddle towards me and I waved her away. There was no way I was going to let my defeat take away from her good-wave-day. I kept paddling. I made it halfway to shore before breaking down. A success. For the next 30-minutes, I sat on my board with my back to the shore and cried one of those cries that you feel not just in your eyes, but in your throat, and in your gut. The kind of tearful release that leaves you jolting and gasping for air. It wasn’t just “not my day.” I didn’t suck any less, if anything I sucked more. And worse, it was sucking the life out of me. Eventually the tears passed and sat there empty. There was nothing left in me but defeat. Defeat and shame. I sat there for another few minutes waiting for my watch to beep signaling 60-minutes had passed. I couldn’t force myself to surf, but I could force myself to stay in the water for an hour. In the distance, I continued to watch surfers surf and decided, I’m done.
“Surfing is hard.”
“You will get it eventually.”
“Give yourself more credit.”
“Those are waves you’re catching.”
It didn’t matter because I didn’t believe it, I didn’t feel it. I felt alone, I felt embarrassed, I felt empty. If this is surfing, I don’t want it. Maybe for today, maybe forever. I don’t know, but what I do know, surfing is more than hard, it’s soul crushing.
A note from me to you:
My hope is that this post finds the girl who has big dreams of living a life on the water, but who feels alone, who feels like a failure, who feels like quitting. You’re not alone. This is my truth and if you resonated with any part of it, I’m sorry. Surf has a deep and rich history. People of all ages, shapes and sizes find immense joy in surf. At one point I did too. Maybe I will again. Surfing is hard, it will crush your soul, but know you’re not alone even when everyone around you is catching waves. There’s a girl out there sitting in the water, waiting, and wondering if her turn will ever come. That girl is me.
The footnotes:
My learnings of surf since embarking on this journey 365 days ago
[1] Almond is a quintessential surf shop in southern California known for their vibey longboards.
[2] Longboard is a type of surfboard. They are generally eight feet plus, wider rounded noses and a lot more foam volume, meaning you should be able to catch a lot more waves.
[3] My Almond Longboard is the Lumberjack, a beautiful $1,695 nose rider, meaning one day I should be able to walk to the tip of the surfboard while riding a wave. I know, crazy right?
[4] This one was gifted to me by a local on a particularly challenging day surfing San Onofre in Southern California, an iconic surf spot known for it’s Waikiki-like waves perfect for beginners and long boarders. It was his way of telling me not to give up and it has been these words that have kept me paddling back into the ocean time and time again, knowing that this time, I’m going to suck a little less. I wish he was right, he wasn’t.
[5] Lineup is the hierarchy of surf and where surfers wait and take turns on waves. Lineup etiquette is critical and something every surfer should be well versed in before ever paddling out to surf.
[6] Did you know most surfboards are hand shaped using fiberglass and resin? It’s truly an art.
[7] There’s catching a wave and there’s surfing and there’s a big difference. To surf, you have to know how to catch a wave and then catch another and then another.
[8] Her 9’6” Astral Exotic longboard and my two boards: My 9’6” Almond longboard and my first surfboard, a 9’ Catch Surf foamy, a classic beginner board made out of foam.
[9] Kook is a pre-beginner surfer, an aspiring wave rider, a nerd (not my word), or someone who tries - and fails - to mimic the surfing lifestyle. Kooks are known to careless and disrespectful the nobility of surfing.
[10] I learned that glassy days are the best days to surf, there’s little to no wind. Wind is an enemy to surf.
[11] Surfline is an app commonly used by surfers. It gives an hourly forecast of local surf conditions including wave height, tide levels and wind conditions. Wave height is a big factor in surf. Beginners and long boarders like me, love a baby wave that rolls in between one to four feet. Anything above that and it’s a no surf day for me.
[12] Paddle out is the term used when you paddle from the beach on your board to the surfable part of the ocean you’re in. Some paddles vary depending on where you’re at. Some are short, only a few minutes, and some are very long and take (me) multiple paddle breaks to get to before I’m exhausted.
[13] This was one of the first skills I adapted as a new surfer. A new surfer (or kook) must know their place and their place is often nowhere near the lineup. The safest place for us is behind the wave, far from where anything will break on you or near you, and where you are meant to take your time observing your surroundings, the wave, the crowd, the breaking point, the peak, and of course, the scenery. You’re in the freaking ocean for crying out loud, take a moment to take it in. Or if you’re like me, take many, many, many moments. You will never regret spending time in the ocean observing. I hope.
[14] At this break, there’s a rock in the middle of the ocean where the peak of the wave breaks. If you want to catch a wave at this break, you need to be by the rock. And yes, it’s as scary as it sounds.
[15] This is also something that doesn’t just happens in surf movies. In fact, it’s an arguably critical step to your safety and success out on the ocean. Some people never use it, some use it daily. I am a daily user because it gives you a tight grip and creates traction for your feet on your board. It also helps you from slipping off of your board when you’re paddling out to waves.
[16] Leashes, like wax, are a critical component to your safety in the water. They attach to your surfboard and your leg (your ankle or your knee). When you get knocked off of your board by a wave, your leash keeps you connected to your board. Sometimes they break and a board will go flying through the water. Sometimes they’ll wrap around a rock or your neck or both of your ankles while being tossed under the wave. You think you’ve taken your last breath, but somehow you make it out. Mostly unscathed, sometimes with a sprain, sometimes with a gash to your head, but you survive, and your leash is to thank for that.
[17] There’s often a sigh of relief when you see a familiar face in the ocean, for others, but not for me. For me, it’s pressure, it’s more familiar eyes to see me stumble, fumble and fail. I find peace and centeredness alone, this has also been a big adjustment for me and in my surf experience.
[18] The shoulder of the wave is to the left or right of the peak. The shoulder is far less intimidating because the wave height is much smaller, but often it’s quite difficult (if not impossible) to catch waves on the shoulder because there’s simply not enough power. You have to be positioned near the peak.
[19] “Yew”, “dude”, “gnarly”, “radical”, “stoked”, and “tight” are all part of surf culture. Yep, I rolled my eyes at first too, but then you catch the stoke. “YEW!” is often yelled when a surfer has caught a gnarly wave. When you get a “yew” from a local, there’s no better feeling.
