Neglecting your loved ones for surfing? Yes, it happens. Photo: Bill Fairs//Unsplash
As a younger man, I once went 14 days without surfing. Having just returned home from a trip to Puerto Rico, where I enjoyed a fine run of swell, glorious mid-winter weather and a full dose of spicy Caribbean culture, I found myself decidedly uninterested in suiting up for a session in three-foot, chilly Upper Trestles crumblers.
Day after day passed, my board unwaxed, my wetsuit dry, an unusual state of affairs for a guy who lived within sight of the surf and worked at a surfing magazine. It got to the point where I almost didn’t recognize my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. What had happened? My unease – my disorientation, actually – came to a head at about 11:30 on that fourteenth night, when, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling a previously unimaginable thought came to mind: was I even a surfer anymore? Did those two short weeks of lapsed devotion completely invalidate all the weeks and years that preceded them?
So unsettled was I by the idea that I got out of bed, tugged on my wetsuit, put my board on my bike rack and under the hazy glow of the streetlights pedaled down to Uppers, where, after crossing the eerily empty sand, I paddled out and caught the first three little waves that came my way. Then, smiling up at the quarter moon, I picked my way back across the cobblestones, got back on my bike and rode home through the quiet street of San Clemente, intent on sleeping the sleep on the righteous.
Color me obsessed with surfing? Could be. Or was this sort of behavior more indicative of a compulsion? And what about your relationship with the sport — midnight surf sessions aside, do you check either of these boxes? Even a shallow dive into the definition of both terms can help illuminate the psychological effect that results from serious commitment to the surfing life.
Medical News Today lays it out pretty simply: “Obsessions are repeated, unwanted and often distressing thoughts that cause anxiety. Compulsions are repetitive behaviors people perform to temporarily relieve this anxiety.”
Sound like anyone you know? Or maybe hundreds of people you know; like just about every single surfer out on a crowded day at Malibu, or Pipeline or the Pass at Byron Bay? Let’s break it down.
A: Repeated, unwanted and often distressing thoughts that cause anxiety.
Think checking Surfline ten times a day, inability to focus on other activities, agonizing over a missed day, a missed session, a missed swell, feelings of hatred toward the inevitable crowd of fellow surfers, despite the fact that all of them are experiencing the very same anxiety you are.
B: Repetitive behaviors performed to temporarily relieve this anxiety.
Think paddling out before the sun comes up, trekking through snow to get to the water, skipping school, begging off work, ditching dates, missing all of your best friends’ wedding showers… paying for an annual stay on Tavarua or a Mentawai boat trip with a high-interest credit card.
Viewed from this perspective it’s pretty easy to see that surfing’s obsessive-compulsive element is way up there, especially in terms of sacrifices made in order to catch a few waves. And don’t just take my word for it. Ask West Australian Kerby Brown, subject of the fine 2021 documentary Facing Monsters, in which Brown candidly examines both his obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors in the context of his increasingly dangerous pursuit of virtually unrideable “slabs,” right up to the point of a near-death experience. At the risk of sounding flippant, I’d say that’s taking the popular “Surfing Ruined My Life” bumper sticker a bit too literally.
Yet in light of the ephemeral nature of rideable waves, and the amount of time it takes to not only master the intricacies of wave riding, but to put yourself in the position to catch even the most modest wave, the question could be posed: “Is it even possible to become a committed surfer without exhibiting obsessive/compulsive behaviors?”
Sixties anti-icon Mickey Dora once asserted that surfing only mattered to him when riding a wave, and that when not actually surfing, it didn’t exist. He lied. Dora was the original poster boy for obsessive-compulsive surfing behavior, as definitively laid out in author David Rensin’s epic Dora oral history All For A Few Perfect Waves (2008).
In terms of inspiration, a much more contemporary example can be found in Hawaii’s John John Florence. As a two-time professional world champion (and widely regarded as the world’s best in or out of a jersey) Florence paddles out with impeccable credentials so far as commitment to surfing and a surfing life is concerned. Yet taking into consideration his obviously keen interest in other areas of endeavor and self-expression — sailing, flying, open-ocean foiling, even bee-keeping —Florence’s behavior hardly seems the result of distressing obsessions and compulsive thoughts, but rather hallmarks of a life characterized by a healthy pursuit of varied experiences.
Thanks, John John. Still, the best example of a non-obsessive-compulsive relationship with surfing came down at my local beach just yesterday. The waves were small, maybe one-to-two feet, and a pack of tiny tots were out, some of them getting their first rides standing up. I asked one little guy, still dripping wet and having just finished downing a handful of Goldfish, what it was about surfing that had him headed out for his third session of the day and not home playing a video game.
“I don’t know,” he said, sucking on his juice box straw. “I just love it so much.”
There’s the something else. And we should all be so lucky as to remember that, every time we paddle out.
