protean muse

I have a two-hour lunch on Fridays & a tempting 5-minute drive to Pleasure Point on the East side of Santa Cruz. I wolfed down bagels and hummus in the car as I peered over the cliffs at the surf. "Do I want to go out?" I kept asking. The surf looked good, but not great. I had stealthed my shortboard in the car all morning while I pandered in class, starving for big waves. Just then a van pulled in next to me and 3 foresters from Big Sur jumped out. They were stoked. "Look at this!" one exclaimed. Thrilled to see ANY waves that were surf-able, they suited up and hungrily ran for lonely 1st peak, where no one was bothering to ride.

Inspired by their fresh perspective, I shot out of a driver's seat full of bagel crumbs and suited up, and it was WAY more fun out there than it looked from the cliffs. The discovery today: longboarding has helped my shortboarding. So many people rigidly separate these two styles in the surf world, but learning how to manage a longer board this past week has been a crash-course on how to handle the art of wave-riding in general: where to stand on the board and when, how to use balance and weight distribution to squeeze the most out of a ride, etc. I happened to get up today and plant my feet in a new position on the short board: the back foot at 45 degrees rather than 90, and on the middle to right(ish) side of the deck; the front foot pointed forward and spread just lateral of the midline. Stable. Natural. And virtually the same as the Taiji single-whip stance in the form I'm learning. Despite what was happening on the wave, I just couldn't get thrown. I had all the timing and control I needed. I spotted the swell bulging and stretching, and knew it would practically break on top of me with a new pocket, just as another 2nd peak-er wiped off the same swell at the end of his own good ride. He hooted an affirmative as I dropped in. A couple other guys to my right were howling as I cruised that bulging wave shoulder, turned some, shot into whitewater and bent low to skim through it, and let myself be propelled forward after the wave closed out behind me. For the surf out there, it was an epic ride for me. I couldn't even wollop or give a victory cry myself: my soul was singing so loudly then and my focus burning right through the water.

Paddling back out, I studied more carefully the footing of the great waveriders out there (I had a dangerously close front-row seat, probably too close to the wave faces), and their stance was similar to what I'd just discovered: back foot angled 45 degrees, which offers a solid plant for stability & maneuverability. "Sounds like you found the sweet spot on that board," John said later when I told him about this at school. The psychology geek in me finds breakthroughs and the ability to do something new a mysterious unfolding. How did this development happen? Am I emulating & modeling the good surfers on the water unconsciously? (If so, that's the last time I complain about there being "too many good surfers" on the water while I learn what I can).

I've struggled with form in surfing for a while now. Another surfer friend recently pointed out that since I don't skate or snowboard, and I'm only 2 1/2 months into it, I don't have a lot of transferrable skills, other than swimming and yoga (+ being bipedal for 30 years). Today it all just happened before I could over-think it. After struggling forever to get a stance down, and worrying solely on drop-ins for such a long time (I kept tanking my nose as it got sucked under the wave), several things met together for the first time: reading the wave, positioning at the soon-to-emerge pocket, laying on my board just right, popping up just as I caught it, footing, avoiding other surfers, etc.

Aikido training had similar experiences. I was sent into my first forward roll by an instructor during a demonstration of shomenuchi-tenkan (a common beginner move). I came at her with a chop, then followed the force of the movement as she grabbed my arm and pulled me down into her center of gravity. I discovered something new: my body assimilated separate trainings into a synthesis of single expression, based on a response to what was there in the moment. I'll never forget the feeling of that roll. I didn't have time to premeditate it- it just happened. Same with today: instead of sparring with an Aikido instructor, I played with the personality of the wave and related to it- integrating these new, separate abilities into one seamless expression.

The Russian Psychologist Lev Vygotsky found that problem solving in young children is accelerated by about four years beyond their development when slightly aided by an adult as opposed to doing it alone. I think a related transfer of ability happens in art and sport as well, as we've all seen how proximity to the more adept can encourage growth at a rapid rate- even if for a short period of "peak experience." Vygotsky originally studied this with adults assisting children, but there is a universality here into peer relationships: actors and musicians can "bring each other up," just as teammates or competitors can do the same. Vygotsky called this the "Zone of Proximal Development," or Zoped (or ZPD). I'm guessing Zoped applies more generally as well: whether one is teaching or learning meditation, yoga, dance, somatics, weightlifting- you name it. Our peers and teachers can transmit their embodiment -and even abilities- by simply being around us. If we are consciously aware of this process, it probably accelerates our growth even more.

My friend Sundance said something the other day, as we talked about new abilities in surfing: "Ah, dude, when you do it once, you'll do it every time after that." Since the answer I give myself to every surf question or pondering is "get back out there and surf more," in that case I can't wait to do it again.

Labels: aikido, development, growth, martial arts, santa cruz, shortboard, surfing, taiji, transmission, zone of proximal development, ZPD

I just finished reading an interview with 8-time world champion surfer Kelly Slater on Sufline. Only two months since my first surf outing, I make it a point to spend more time in the water than I do reading or even talking about it, but even so I'm finding valuable insights from masters within the surf world:

[excerpt from sufline.com interview]
In 2001, before rejoining the tour, you said, "I guess I want to really enjoy being on the world tour this time... It was tough to enjoy myself when I was trying so hard to win." Have you enjoyed yourself more this time around?

In the time I took off the tour I learned a lot of things, and probably the biggest one was just being present in the moment. I spent a lot of time worrying about the future, thinking about things in the past, just personal things for me to get through, my own life challenges. When I started to really be present in the moment, then my life became all about the journey I was on and where I was at, as opposed to trying to obtain something. That allowed me to enjoy so much more of my time on tour, the people I was around, my life.
[end excerpt]

I love Slater's outlook here. He is now in the middle of a ridiculous ride of winning after winning this year -after dominating surf competitions since the 1990's- and he describes it as feeling easy right now; relaxed. Does his attitude and bearing on being present tie into this? I'd venture to say it does.

The slogan for the personal training school I attended was: "The only competition- is you." I always loved that phrase. This is the only way I can truly relate to surfing. I learn what I can from my friends and other surfers, always, but any attitude of a divided competitiveness leads me out of relationship and into dualistic isolation. For me, it's just as Slater says in this interview. His attitude of immediate awareness is what surfing is about for me. If you're not there, you're missing out on worlds of detail, feeling, and information that literally live and swirl everywhere around you: from the marine life you're swimming with, to the intelligence transmitted by other surfers, to the play of light on the glassy surface as you're propelled forward and riding a mysterious, glorious force. Acting creatively with what is there, right then, is what is most immediate- and most intimate. This is exactly why judges seem to like Slater over other surfers: no matter what wave he is on -and it could be far less than "ideal"- it's what he does with what is given; how he pulls it off regardless of the conditions, that sets him above other surfers.

I remember scouting towards Malibu on my way out of Santa Monica a few weeks ago, assessing a surf spot with my road-trip buddy. The waves looked sloppy and short. After a good 10 minutes, we confirmed how we weren't sold on getting wet. Just then, we see this guy tearing it up like a short-boarder on this tiny little slop of beach-break: floaters, turns- all kinds of fun. "Look what he's riding," Noah said. I looked. My jaw dropped. This guy was standing on a boogie board! It struck me then: sometimes it's about the wave, but it's really not about the wave. It's not even about the board, in the grand scheme. Just when you think it's terrible out there, and have an attitude against it, you see someone do something amazing with what is there. It's about you, and how you relate. That's life.

Our common definition of "sport' usually involves a casual past-time that includes competitiveness, rules, flash, and can even have a mocking connotation (such as "making sport" of something). Like other activities that we slap this word onto, surfing can be engaged as sport, but only at a surface level. Even some of the most competitive surfers seem to hold something deeper in their perspective, possessing a rare level of self-knowledge and stability of physical presence. How they may or may not transfer this knowledge or the feelings of connection they encounter on the water into the rest of their lives is up to them. But -in my experience- any activity that offers a path into the self and actually through the self is a kind of "way" or path rather than simply a past-time or game.

Surfing for me -like anything else in life- offers opportunities for presence everywhere: a gateway into awe & ignition of determination to blaze my own path. Body and mind can become synchronized with the rhythm of the ocean. One is literally catching and riding the kinetic energy of the water, and joining with its meta-electrical charge. In a relative sense, you can't witness the physical act of surfing unless you are a creature with a body that is there, moving with the sea. This reminds me of what it is like to fall in love: out of all the living beings we can be present with in our lives, there is someone in particular we find, and love the way their presence lives in their being with us. This touches us, and changes us, just as the the ocean does.

While a sport can be defined and judged, a way is unqualifiable. Surfing, in my beginner's impression, personifies this difference.

Labels: fun, Kelly Slater, sport, surfing, surfline, the present, zen