Chapter 4
Impact, Not Activities
I learned to surf when I was 26. I took an analytical approach to mastering this sport, which meant spending a lot of time just watching other surfers. The coast of Florida along the Atlantic Ocean is a “beach break” (as opposed to the nice, neat “point breaks” in California), with seemingly endless waves approaching and closing out in the shallow waters. I remember the first time I realized there was order to what I had thought was a chaotic ritual of paddling out to what’s called the lineup. I spotted a beginner—a wary-looking surfer handling his board awkwardly, then wading into the water, climbing on top, and beginning the long paddle out. He stroked furiously, getting knocked around by each oncoming wave, and duck-dived his board underneath to the best of his ability. He rested atop his board at various points, eyeing the distance remaining to the lineup. He then took a deep breath and continued fighting, paddling, and diving. Finally, seemingly with the last few viable paddle strokes left in his muscles, he squeaked past a cresting wave, narrowly escaping the powerful pull backwards. But he made it, exhausted, into the calmness of the lineup.
Meanwhile, I also had my eye on an experienced surfer standing in knee-high water with his board, staring out into the distance. He watched. He waited. And waited. At first, I wondered if he ever intended to actually do anything. But then, just as the novice surfer had barely cleared the monster wave, ...
