Courage
This is about how fear and courage are two sides of the same coin--so if you feel fear, then courage right there too.
Fear is a mile wide and an inch deep. It's all the reasons not to surf... fear of the unknown, of what lies below, of sharks. It's all the reasons to take a "real" job... fear of what others will think, fear of no money. It's all the reasons not to talk to that girl... fear of rejection, fear of awkwardness. It's all the reasons to not go on writing this essay.
Fear is why we give up. And sure, fear can feel rational. Even helpful. But when I really look at what I fear, act anyway, and observe what's on the other side... I see there's nothing to fear. Not literally nothing, but nothing that overrides common sense. Because on the far side of fear is always change, and growth.
I feared surfing. I feared starting too late... 27. I feared what others might think. I feared not looking cool. I feared the great whites... still do. I feared the cold water, wasting an hour, paying too much for a rental. I feared disrespecting the lineup and the locals. I feared all of it.
October 1. I pulled into Pleasure Point's parking lot. At the same moment, a Scooby-Doo-spray-painted truck rolled in beside me. A man in a hoodie with a small dog stepped out and leaned a surfboard and wetsuit against his car. On a piece of cardboard, he wrote:
$40. Cash, PayPal, Venmo, Zelle.
The local rental shop, Tourist, charged $60 per day. 40 sounded fair. But still... I hesitated. Paralyzed by thought. Closer, but frozen.
I walked toward an ATM to buy time, but stumbled into YB board shop instead. Showed the owner a photo. Told him I was a beginner. He smiled, deeply. Said it was a steal. Told me to check for cracks and waterlogging. Said the water was warm. "Nothing to fear."
So I walked back to the lot. Now there were no excuses... no lack of board, no wetsuit, no cold. And still, I hesitated.
I walked up to the van and said hello. The man's name was Pedro - a sushi chef, a skater, a mathematician. We talked for two hours. He shared tips: how to find the line, what it means to be a surfer, bits of lore.
And still, I stalled... "Maybe if I talk long enough, I thought, I won't have to get in." I thought.
But the time came. I bought the board and wetsuit. Paid him. He left to get "gas."
Now it was just me- alone, thirty meters from the ocean... Fewer and fewer excuses... I pulled on the wetsuit-backwards at first, then flipped it. Walked down the stairs toward the beach. "I'm doing this," I thought. "I am a surfer."
An older man with washed-gray hair stood nearby. I asked where to go. He pointed left towards 38th Street or the second group further down, then wished me luck. No more excuses.
I strapped the leash to my right ankle. Stepped into the water. Ah. Not bad... I was sweating inside the suit. The water was fine. Another guy with flippers walked past and dove straight in... Enough. Time to go. A wave. Another. Now. -> I jumped on the foam top and started paddling left. Ahhh. I am a surfer.
...
An hour later - a few wipeouts, a few rides, a shining soul. In the distance, humpback whales breached and splashed. Epic.
...
Now I'm driving down the coast of California in my truck. Sleeping in the back seat. Hauling my foam top like some trophy. Feels good.
I'm increasingly convinced that when you act with courage, so long as it comes from a good place, things work out.
