I was the 16th person to paddle out to the line up this morning. We were there by 7 am due to the holiday weekend. I saw Haley out there already, and it was so beautiful! So few people out, she was sitting almost alone in her section of break, and the marine layer was again creating an even gray backdrop. So peaceful. I wish I had a camera to catch the moment. And then she saw me and waved me in. The water was smooth and glassy with some gentle bumps coming in, no wind, no more than 1-2 foot waves. When Surfline says the conditions are poor, they are generally perfect for our little group.
The others arrived in due time and we spent a lovely morning, the four of us chatting and catching waves, chatting and trying to catch waves, and chatting. Haley and Heidi were stars this morning! Stood up so many times! So cool! Little fish were hopping in and out of the water nearby. So many cheers and smiles from people in the line up encouraging each other. It's honestly so freakin' idyllic I can't believe it's real most of the time. Hardly noticed the wind picking up making the water a little choppy. How beautiful to have a group of welcoming women to do this with.
Everything was easier today. I balanced on the board more comfortably. I checked the time and cheered the others on and didn't fall off this time. I just went for waves -- no hesitation. Definitely caught more waves this week, because I went for more, but we're still talking only 3-4 waves actually caught to any degree in about an hour on the water. I'm still working on turning the board around in time to paddle to catch a wave, and knowing what a good wave for me even looks like, but going from sitting on the board facing seaward, seeing a wave coming, turning the board beachward, then laying down and paddling was working much better today. The last wave in I got up on my knees for a split second! Woot!
Every once in a while a big wave would come through by surprise. I generally stayed on my board for these. Didn't always handle these waves like a cork bobbing atop the water, but more like a rock being slapped in the face yet standing its ground in the face of the wave. Sometimes, I just misjudge the height or power of a wave or arrive to it at the wrong time. I know I have to get over the lip before it begins to break, but sometimes those suckers move quicker than I do. Then I'm facing the wrong way, tipped backwards, stuck in the churn, and swamped. Continued observation and awareness (less focus on chatting), stronger paddling at the right moment, and safety have moved up on the goals list. And just understanding how a set works -- waves come in groups. If I catch (or attempt to catch) the first wave in a set, then more are coming as I try to get back out past the break! These are things entering my awareness this week (as the face plant returns to repertoire).
So many ways to grow. So grateful to have this opportunity to freely grow and improve in a gentle and natural way -- an antidote to my usual hyper-achieving perfectionism. One scene warmed my heart today: a dad was teaching his daughter to surf right next to me. Patiently and kindly, he spoke to her as she sat atop her board and then pushed her into gentle waves as they came, waves appropriate for her skill level. Encouraged her. Coached her. She listened intently. Dad seemed to be consciously and conscientiously giving her the tools to be successful, which will carry her through when the waves get bigger and rougher. I imagine them going out often together and the little girl learning more and more each time, getting more skilled and stronger with every wave. I wished I could hear his advice.
Like many of us, I did not have that kind of mindful attention as a child. I long for that kind of childhood. Still, at 55, I see such a scene and feel a touch of melancholy. Missing something I never had. My parents were not equipped with such skills.
Then, I came home to meet with my mentor group for the Mindfulness Meditation Teacher Certification Program. Jake is our mentor, and my group is perfectly international: seven people from seven different countries. And it is also a lovely group -- how cool that people from such different backgrounds and cultures can connect so easily and openly around this endeavor. (I am just ridiculously lucky these days. Good humans all around me.) Today's lesson discussed mindfulness of emotions, and again I'm struck by the similarities between mindfulness and surfing. Cultivating mindfulness around emotions is not easy. Big waves come at you all of the time, sometimes out of nowhere. Like dad and the little girl, with patience, awareness, and some specific skills, I am developing the tools for handling those waves. And with every session, I get better at it.
I don't have a Tide Alert app on my heart for predicting when the emotional surf is going to be high, but I have developed a sensitivity and awareness to see when it is coming. I am much further along in the learning curve on this skill than surfing. I have learned about my emotional triggers in therapy and meditation groups just like I'm learning about the swells coming in from the south here in Newport Beach. I can prepare myself for them now. And when something pops up that takes me by surprise, I can employ some strategies to help me through it.
Meditation, obviously, is my first strategy. In sitting meditation, I am continually developing an observer presence. Instead of getting instantly carried away by my thoughts and emotions -- wrapped up in them and driven by them as soon as they appear -- I can take a breath, observe them, and decide what to do next.
That first class in surfing, I had guidance and it was a smooth day, so I did well. When I started working with my emotions and thoughts, I was in therapy. I had guidance. Conditions aren't always predictable, however, not even with the gurus at Surfline doing their best. The second day in surf class was a rough one -- big waves, fast and forceful, lots of energy, coming from all directions. I did a lot of work that day on surviving them. Face plant after face plant, under water, taking unwilling gulps of saltwater, mistake after mistake. Even though I had guidance, I still had to go through this process on my own, because obviously the teacher can't ride the board with me.
It was amazing when I finally experienced time to consciously put my arms up to protect my head from the board in the middle of a tumble -- I wasn't freaking out and victim to whatever happened. Staying cool and calm, time slowed down a bit and allowed me to choose a response. It was still a face plant. I was still swamped. But it was a success amidst the failure to have some awareness in the moment. Similarly, though my therapist used to be there for me every week for a session, I had to survive on my own using the strategies she taught me to get through many sleepless nights. It was a serious accomplishment to see the light of day during this period of my life. Baby steps.
I'm sure my surfer observations will deepen over the years same as my inner emotional observer has gotten more astute. Right now, I'm wondering: Is this a good wave? Should I catch this one? Is this one too big? Have I turned around in time and paddled hard enough to catch it? Total beginner questions. Part intellectual activity and part physical, cultivating the observer requires doing, failing, and trying again. The emotional observer presence gives me space between my emotions and my reactions. That space gets wider and calmer all of the time. I'm sure the surfing observer will allow me the same kind of space.
Getting out into nature is a balm for me -- exercise is rather like preventative medicine. Forest bathing is a thing, so why not surfboard riding for mental health? Walking or running or gardening or other physical activity has the power to regulate our emotions. Anything to take me out of my head for awhile works wonders. Helping others also improves my disposition when I'm going through something. When I was starting over after I got divorced, I volunteered at a recording studio where I read books aloud on tape for people with disabilities. I then had a nice lunch and walked across the street to the Art Institute of Chicago. It was a lovely day that made some otherwise lonely Saturday nights quite peaceful. It's kind of cool to be the one being helped now.
I name my emotions, which really helps no matter the size of the wave. And I have learned two things about emotions that also help:
Emotions are information. They tell us important stuff. If I'm angry, Anger is telling me that something is important to me, that something is unfair, that a boundary has been crossed. Anger teaches me about my values. If I'm sad, Sadness teaches me about what I love or have loved and lost, whether it be a person or expectation or dream. Emotions are great teachers. I have learned to listen to them intently.
Resisting emotions is useless. Like a face plant driven by an overwhelming wave I tried to ignore in the water, my emotions will be heard whether or not I want to hear them. Eventually, they will show up, manifesting at incredibly awkward times, nearly always creating more turbulence in my life than the original feeling did. So accepting and allowing emotions is also a skill I continue to nurture.
Tara Brach has a formula for this idea: "pain x resistance = suffering." She says that the more we resist what we feel, the more we suffer. Many of us have myths and prejudices in our heads around emotions that we learned as we grew up. Lots of shoulds and shouldn'ts around so-called good emotions and bad emotions. Men can be angry, but can never cry. Women can show sadness, but never anger. Society has lots of ways to limit our freedom of emotional expression. Now, I am more able to welcome it all, just like the Rumi poem tells me to do. If we can accept our feelings as they are, then we can free ourselves to take the next right action. Which may be no action at all. We can just sit with the mess for awhile.
Sitting with the mess is incredibly hard for me, by the way. I hope I'm not passing along an impression that this is all easy breezy. In the very recent past, I was an all or nothing, people-pleasing, get it done, fix it now, clean it up immediately if you didn't do it perfectly the first time kind of person. I hate mess. Or I did. I'm getting better at awkwardness. I'm getting better at sitting in the midst of chaos and saying to myself, "Yes. This sucks." But not actually doing anything about it, because maybe it's not all mine to fix? (Not entirely sure about that one yet. Part of me still wants to fix everything. BECAUSE I CAN.) LOL. (Midge chiming in from my mental peanut gallery: "Honestly folks, we can really do better.")
Brene Brown has whole chapters and podcasts on the story I am telling myself. During the pandemic, I would often get overwhelmed by a big wave of fear. The Midge voice, inner critic and general proclaimer of doom, would get going and the thoughts and emotions would have me in the churn. When I realized this was happening, I would repeat a little mantra to myself: "Right now, I am OK. I have a job that can go online; I have a roof over my head; I have food in the fridge. Right now, I am OK." I was aware that I would start spinning out psychologically if I allowed the fear to drive. Often (Usually? Perhaps always?) it's not the actual situation we're in that's causing the big emotions, but the story we tell ourselves about it. Perspective is so important.
So, like the dad with his daughter, I am teaching myself skills to handle my emotional waves more effectively. And I do it like he seemed to do, with kindness and compassion most of the time. Self-compassion is the best tool of all of them. Thank you, Professor Neff! With awareness, we can see our suffering and name it, acknowledge it, and offer ourselves kindness and understanding as we would a good friend. We can acknowledge our common humanity: we are not alone in feeling this way. All humans go through stuff; it's very normal to have such emotions and difficulties. And we can balance the overwhelm with perspective. I am not my emotions. I have emotions. I don't need to over-identify with the pain. This is not the only thing happening in my life right now. I am more than this.
Every time I try, I get better at it. Instead of being swamped by the waves, I use these tools to achieve a sense of peace and equanimity no matter the size of the tide. Reflecting on my years-long process of learning to surf my emotions gives me a kind of road map to how I will learn to surf the Pacific. It will never be over; I will never be done. There will be no A on an exam at the end of a well-planned semester. It is not a neat and tidy progression, but a natural, seaweedy mess most of the time. Little by little, moments of awareness will surface. I will do a lot of reading and paying attention to experts. I will work things out both in my head and in the water. Sunday Surfday, I will get out there and do it, fail, and do it again. "Every morning a new arrival," I will drink a steady diet of saltwater for breakfast until I am sated.
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