Once upon a time, there was a boy called Mick who was loved for both his strength and his ability to be one of the people.
Ever since I first stood on a board I’ve referenced surfing as a metaphor for life. For example, “waves always come in sets.” The “sets” analogy is considerably richer than its “when it rains it pours” counterpart as it covers both happy and unhappy circumstances. It encompasses the idea we are never prepared for what we most wish for, that positioning, attitude and adaptability will very much change our experience, that lack of choice or commitment is likely to send us straight under sooner than later, that being caught up in our own battles is no excuse for losing sight of those around us, and if we do, we are on our way to pay a heavy price. We can hurt ourselves, or worse, hurt others with no way of undoing it.
So it’s no surprise that pro surfers should inhabit our world and have leading roles in the narrative that supports our own life stories. The need for heroes pervades all cultures and has been around even before the Greeks invented the word. It singlehandedly supports the cinema and entertainment industry, leaked into the information and news arena with the invention of celebrity, widened its remit through reality TV and social media, where everyone can place themselves at the center of their own narrative armed with less than 10,000 words to their vocabulary as long as they can brandish an all-powerful selfie. Storytelling has become universal, yet somehow we still yearn for heroes, individuals who will pull us out of ourselves and bring us closer to something greater.
Mick Fanning’s extraordinary encounter with one of Nature’s most powerful creature is textbook heroic feat. Once upon a time, there was a boy called Mick who was loved for both his strength and his ability to be one of the people, a brother, a kid from the neighborhood who remained modest, good-natured and unassuming. All this in spite of traveling around the world and winning shiny trophies. One day, as Mick was going about doing what he loved most, playing in the surf, the ocean’s underbelly opened behind him and released its darkest creature- a giant cold blooded shark, which surged and slashed the water’s surface with the might and precision of pure evil. There was a short gasp. An ominous fin. A bobbing board. An arm, soon only just a hand, and then, nothing. In a deafening silence dark waters had closed onto Mick. A young knight who was passing by, and whom we’ll call Julian, saw what was happening. In a desperate attempt to save his countryman, Julian paddled frantically toward the ruckus, in hopes of pulling Mick up onto his mount. As Mick sank, so did the young knight’s heart. “He is gone” he murmured. But suddenly Mick surged up and with the strength of the righteous started punching the shark, who bent double whimpering and shocked before retreating. Mick wasn’t finished. He swam out and turned around to see his opponent eye to eye. “I see you are a man of great courage” said the shark in a voice not dissimilar to that of Morgan Freeman. I am a Great White Shark and I am honored to have fought with you, White Lightening.” And with that, the shark was gone. Mick was safe. Julian was safe. Everybody was safe. I heard some “processing” took place afterwards, which from my understanding meant all the salt water they had swallowed in the commotion had to be extracted through their eyes. That must have hurt. The end.
“He punched a shark”. Though grammatically correct, the sentence seems totally at odds with the world we live in. We are so removed from nature that to us sharks are fictional devices more than living creatures. If we hear of injury or death by shark, it is often after reality got over processed through media exercise. Even when attacks directly affect the surfing community, from Bethany Hamilton to Elio Canestri, “storification” is so quick and powerful that we lose grip with reality. Shark attacks become fodder for entertainment, marketing or agenda setting. What the live footage and consequent interviews captured at Jeffrey’s Bay is unprecedented. It wasn’t just an exciting wild life segment nor a lame “how does the hero win” narrative we are routinely force fed. It captured the essence of the human struggle in the face of the void. It reminded us how fragile life is, how nonsensical and extraordinary its very existence is. One minute Mick is here, we are in a decisive final for the World Title, the next Mick is gone, the final is an empty colorless word, there is no other reality than the immensity of the void. Then life springs back and all the colors rush back in and we wonder which is the dream, that terrifying reset or life itself?
When we celebrate Mick Fanning as a hero, a legend, we echo what humankind has been doing for centuries: projecting our own helplessness onto one of ours, one that will find a glorified exit, an impossible victory, untapped resource we knew not we had, to free us from fear and inspire us out of the terrifying limitations of humanity itself.
Mick Fanning is now in the arena of my heroes. A mere mortal who has shown great courage, skill and inventiveness in the face of adversity. I remember debating this with a friend who had also seen him “partying hard”, an elegant understatement for unsteady walking and incomprehensible shape throwing as a token of post competition celebration. “I love it, I argued, at least he is human.”
“Well he is too human for me,” was her reply. His unapologetic human (or “Eugene” as he calls it) side is endearing, because if his failings are ours, then what of his victories? Even before the shark encounter, he had already displayed the archetypical qualities of a hero by overcoming personal tragedy, bouncing back from injury, achieving outstanding success through resolve while keeping faithful to his roots. When he goes under, it is a symbol for all the times we go under. Rarely are our own encounters with the void as dramatic as his, but they require no less courage. Trying to makes end meets day in day out, losing health, losing a job, losing a home, losing a brother, a father, a child, a friend, every day we are threatened to be pulled under, the dark waters closing in on us. The slow courage that is required to resurface is the hardest to gather. We often imagine letting go would be a relief. We have all witnessed close ones who have let go, who did not have the strength yet or the strength anymore to fight. We do not blame them, we are filled with sadness, with fear. But then maybe, just maybe, an image may float up. He punched a shark. The sheer incongruity, almost comical effect of that image could be enough to pull you out to the surface, turn around and face adversity head on. Because if Mick did it, we can do it too.
