Anticipation. Photo: beachradish images
“Never let the fear of striking out get in your way” – George Herman “Babe” Ruth
There are certain sports – surfing, for one – that are best introduced at a young age, where the combination of a low center of gravity and a veritable fearlessness create the perfect milieu for pure, uninhibited joy. There is an innate sense of trust and well-being that underlies a child’s approach to a new activity – she likely sees only the fun to be had, the speed, the exhilaration of the loss of control… all wrapped up in the security that it will be awesome. There are no down-sides; no reasons not to try.
My recurrent mantra is that I am not good at reduced friction sports: skiing, snowboarding, skating, even cycling. I tell a story of a baseline incoordination that makes such activities particularly dangerous for me. (I have, after all, been known to fall just walking: “How did you do that?!” my husband asks. “I don’t really know. I was walking. And then… I wasn’t.”) My self-assessment will usually get a good laugh and successfully change the subject of “why don’t you ski/surf, etc.?” But it isn’t so much the physicality of these reduced friction sports that presents the greatest challenge. It’s the mental component. The combination of speed and loss of control – whether resulting from unpredictable elements of nature, or an unpredictability of self-confidence – these have always presented the greatest hurdles. Distilled, it’s nothing more than fear. Fear of pain, sure. But more than that, it’s a fear of failure; it’s a fear of not being good, where that failure has real ramifications.
The older you get, the harder it is to learn brand new things; whether it’s your job or your chosen hobbies, in our adult lives we tend to engage in those activities at which we excel. Learning something new is hard to stick with because the reality is that we’re going to suck at it for a while. And who enjoys being bad at something? Especially when being bad at something carries with it the risk of physical pain?
I’ve been “surfing” now for all of a couple of months. I even have my own board, Wrigley (does one name one’s surfboard?). He’s beautiful, and I have promised him that one day I will ride him the way he was intended to be ridden. For now, we walk in the shallow water together. When I see a good wave, I turn him around and jump on. I paddle. He’s very patient. I stand up about 25% of the time. Maybe. I fall what feels like 100% of the time. I have bruises in ways, and places, I didn’t think possible. Every time I see a bigger wave, I have a momentary panic. Then I turn Wrigley around, and quietly walk myself through the steps I was taught. Most importantly, I believe that I can.
A long time surfer, upon learning that I was learning, said to me: “You only need three reasons not to go out. It’s always easy to come up with the first two. But the third one, the third one is almost impossible.” There have been mornings when, after the early schlep to the beaches where locals are friendly to older groms like me, I look out at the water with my husband and comment on the period, the number of people, the tide; considering all the ways in which it might not be perfect. When really, there is only one reason not to go: my own fear. And that, that is no reason at all.
Grommet. Photo: beachradish images
