Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

I’ve always been drawn to the romance of surfing. Or at least my own romanticized version of it.

I love how surfers are so dedicated to finding that perfect wave. I love how surfing is the first thing they think about when they wake up as the sun rises. I love how they use surfing as a sort of Zen meditation, a way to disconnect from the troubles of the world, become one with nature, achieve a kind of inner peace. I love how that inner peace and one-ness gives them patience as they wait for the best waves. I love the idea of living in eternal summer, never really growing up or needing to “go back to school” and fit into the restraints of society.

Watching surfing is something I find to be relaxing. It’s beautiful, peaceful and impressive as an athletic feat. It makes me imagine what they might be feeling in the moment and what the life of a pro surfer might be like. I have no idea if they really are Zen and centered and seeking endless summer, but I find even the idea of their Zen contagious.

Yet I have no desire to actually learn to surf myself. I’m a night owl who’d rather be slapped in the face than wake up super early. I’m not a particularly strong swimmer. After getting my clock cleaned by some seemingly minor waves, stepping on all manner of pinchy ocean animals and watching Jaws three too many times I have a mild fear of the ocean beyond waist-level water. Surfing, though romantic and wonderful in my mind, is simply not for me.

But I relate to the passion and enthusiasm that surfers have because I have that same passion and enthusiasm for the things I create. I spend my waking hours daydreaming about music and drawing and writing in much the same way I assume a dedicated surfer daydreams about the waves when she’s not riding them. I channel my own personal Zen and inner peace and one-ness when I’m deep into working on a creative project, achieving a flow state that calms me internally even when I’m putting forth a great amount of mental effort and concentration. I don’t think of anything else when I’m in that moment. I lose track of time and disconnect from the troubles of the world. I, too, am on an endless search for the perfect wave. It’s just that my waves look more like audio waveforms than water.

Most surfers surely experience plenty of moments of frustration and distraction and not performing at their best, as do I. But after they get thrown off their board, they hop back on and look for the next opportunity for a killer ride. If they didn’t, they’d just be sitting at home, thinking about the waves they missed out on. If I were to give up after hitting a creative wall, I’d be stuck thinking about the same thing.

The perfect wave probably doesn’t exist. But that doesn’t stop surfers — or me — from looking for one. So I feel a kinship with those who surf despite the fact that I’ve never set foot on a board. And while you may not feel a similar sense of solidarity while watching surfers glide gleefully over the water, you can find meaning and motivation from the promise of another kind of wave that makes you daydream about the endless chase.

I’ve found my surf. Have you found yours?