This week’s note is a follow up to note #11 My First Real Barrel. If you haven’t yet, reading that note will provide a little context (but isn’t required).
This note started the way most of my journaling starts… with a question: How had I found myself alone in Africa with a backpack and board bag chasing waves when just a few years earlier I’d had an apartment in San Diego and had my eyes on the traditional American dream – a good paying job, house, and fun with friends on the weekends?
The second time I was “bit by the bug” was after my first real barrel (check that on note #11). For days after, I kept replaying that wave back in my head. It stuck as a rare, clear memory, standing out from the hundreds of waves I caught that summer. I forgot most of my waves before even getting out of the water. A few standouts would linger for a couple days before vanshing along with god knows what else from my memory. This one was, and still is, imprinted in my brain.
Was this the most stoked I’d ever been? Certainly in recent memory.
My surfing had been through a few rough patches – a broken knee cap, a year with without surf in Alaska, and dismal conditions in the South China Sea – but I always returned and this time it was with more commitment. I was back, stoked again, with a renewed child-like excitement for the hobby that had taken the back burner behind more “real life” pursuits for too long.
Looking back I can see my whole summer in Nicaragua, but in particular my barrel, was an inflection point. I felt a little more like a surfer and a little less like a poser. I could now say, without any doubt, that I had been barreled. I’d no longer carry the sheepish feeling that I was claiming a “shampoo” or counting a pit I never made it out of.
There was still a long way to go, however, before I could feel like an adequate surfer – if that was even possible for more than a session here or there. Many of the surfers I shared sessions with were getting bigger, deeper barrels—multiple per session, and making it look easy. I thought, “If I could ride waves like that, no one could deny I was a real surfer—not even myself.” More importantly, how stoked would I be to get waves like that on a regular basis? I could taste the possibility. The future was bright, and I had a stoke-backed confidence that I could reach it.
It wasn’t just the barrel that sparked this renewed passion, however. It was the whole experience: the new surf scene, my first true glimpse into the glory of the expat surfer’s life, and a liberating revelation about my surf mindset.
The Myth
At the renowned beach break of Colorados, I was a guest in a community of extraordinary surfers, and it quickly dawned on me that my lifelong approach to the sport was built on a flawed premise. Until that point, I had believed that true surfing was a matter of instinct and feel, something you simply picked up by spending time in the water. I had done everything on my own, learning through a process of slow, often frustrating, trial and error. I even held a quiet, personal stigma against formal coaching, film review, or watching “how-to” videos, as if it was a betrayal of the “pure” experience. My surfing life had been a series of small, incremental victories, but never an intentional progression or dedicated pursuit—even though I was consistently unhappy with my performance.
That all changed during a conversation with Carl, an expat who had lived and surfed in Nicaragua for over a decade. He was an older, more experienced, and talented surfer. He was one of the guys going for and making the kinds of barrels I had only dreamed about. He took boat trips to Indonesia and surfed breaks like Greenbush and Telescopes. He had a beautiful Nicaraguan wife and lived in a nice house a short walk from the beach. He was living a legendary life in my eyes.
Most importantly for my journey though, he was uniquely open to sharing advice. My experience with other surfers up to this point was that unsolicited advice wasn’t cool, and to ask for it was even worse. The surfers I knew stayed in their lanes – I assume their theory on the matter was that it’s best to keep intermediate surfers from advancing – they didn’t want any more competition in the water.
The advice I had received was delicate and often unhelpful; between the friends I surfed with regularly, we wanted to help each other, but it had to be delivered softly so as not to wound the surf ego.
“You should have pulled in there.”
or
“You could have made that one if you hadn’t bailed!”
This was the extent of it – slivers of advice from a clearer vantage point masked as votes of confidence.
I would later, painfully, face my surf ego by watching film of myself in the water. When I saw it, my stomach dropped and I felt like shrinking back into the corner as I readjusted to reality. So that’s what I really look like on a wave?
In addition to not receiving much advice, some of it was bad or indecipherable. Many of the best surfers are terrible coaches. The nuances of riding a wave proficiently are often either poorly understood by the rider or poorly translated into tangible advice. There was of course, great surf teachers and a wellspring of tips on the internet – I just needed permission to use it.
Carl’s guidance would turn out to be more than just a few tweaks to my approach; It helped me adjust my entire mindset.
As he told me his own surf progression story, I realized he hadn’t reached his level proficiency from the pure trial and error approach I was on. He detailed his own path to barrel riding and the ongoing commitment he made to staying healthy and preventing injury as he got older. He was a humble student, not a natural phenom. My perception of him shattered and my mind opened.
I realized most surfers I was seeing getting absolutely shacked – the ones I had secretly categorized as “naturals” – had actually earned their tubes through dedication and hard work. They were disciplined. They worked on specific aspects of their surfing to strengthen areas of weakness. Many had workout and stretching routines outside of the water. None of this was visible from my vantage point on the shoulder as they took off under the lip and sat relaxed in the green room.
As I digested my new reality in the hours after talking with Carl, I started to see things different. What I had previously seen as a proud approach to surfing was suddenly immature. I was embarrassed to have followed that track for so long, but also excited to see what was possible on this new path.
Carl’s guidance gave me permission to see surfing not as a casual hobby, but as a discipline worthy of study. He even gave me practical resources for exercises and stretches to help with specific aspects of surfing, like foot and ankle flexibility for frontside barrel riding or hip and knee stretches for the “pig dog” stance required for backside barrels.
A new world opened up. I had been released from prison. I had permission to be a “surf nerd” and study the various approaches to wave riding. I knew how to be a nerd—that actually did come naturally to me. Reading, listening to lectures, reviewing case studies, following mentors, and applying it in real life—no problem. This approach had carried me through college and landed me somewhat of a “dram” job that enabled me to work remotely.
Why had it not crossed my mind to apply the same approach that brought me success in work to surfing?
One thing became clear: I was previously using the natural and unguided approach to surfing as an excuse for my poor performance. It was a handicap. I’d justify not making barrels or blowing top turns with my internal theory of pure self-learning. My true fear was: what if I accepted help, did all the work, and still sucked at surfing? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.
The overwhelming stoke from my first real barrel, however, showed me the true stakes and gave me the confidence to change. The prize for being a well-rounded surfer was worth the risk of destroying my own self-image. Furthermore, I realized it was impossible to live up to the expectations of every surfer everywhere I went.
Surfers were divided in their ideals and approaches to the art. I already knew there were laid-back surfers, committed surfers, crazy party surfers, and straight-edge, healthy surfers. Now I also knew I could add “students of the art” and the “stubbornly ignorant” to these sub-categories. I was in the process of moving away from being stubbornly ignorant and toward where I truly belonged—as a lifelong student.
The feedback loop was an important motivator for me too. I quickly realized I could do something out of the water—like stretching or a specific workout—and soon after see results in the water. The simplest example: pushups, planks, and downward dog helped my pop up. I was quicker to my feet which meant fewer blown takeoffs. More successful takeoffs meant less frustration and more waves, which led to better surfing and a higher stoke.
The shift in mindset was the real key that unlocked a new level in the game of surfing. It was a feedback loop I hadn’t understood before. As I improved and started surfing better waves, I had more fun. The more fun I had the more committed I became to leveling up. Each level unlocked new approaches to waves that required new skills. It was… and still is… a never ending loop of self improvement.
My first real barrel and the revelations that followed didn’t just change my approach to surfing; they taught me a larger lesson about my own blindness. If I could be so wrong for so long about a passion that defined so much of my life, what else was I missing?
What else was my mind blocking me from seeing in it’s relentless campaign of self preservation?