Surf's Up

June 8, 2026

Greetings from Duke,

I have had a tentative relationship with water.  To be clear, I drink water. Also, I am not hesitant to take a shower. But once water is bigger than I am, I carefully consider my priorities.

I am not helpless; I know how to swim. I was forced to take swimming lessons as a boy, and then forgot most of that the first time I got splashed in the face at Kearsley Pool, other than the classic dog-paddle and dead-man’s float. Which, for me, is approximately the same move.

If evolution required learning to swim well, I would have gone the way of the neanderthal.  But luckily, I have been able to choose whether I go into the water or not.  My body seems more built to ride bikes or run on roads, perhaps recline on couches.  Swimming in the ocean means risking getting water in my eyes, which for me is enough reason to read a good book instead.

And still, I ignored all this history and agreed to take surfing lessons.  I considered my day and said to myself: Make the most interesting choice.

People travel from around the world to surf in Costa Rica.  Great coastline, good weather, just the right shape of reefs for tides to turn into excellent waves.  I won’t say we were that kind of surfer, but when my daughter Katherine and her husband Tim wanted to go surfing, I went along. 

The conditions were excellent for doing anything at the beach, including doing anything but surfing.  On the shore, families filled the shady places just off the sand.  Music played, food was roasting on hibachis, kids were playing, digging moats, collecting shells, chasing the edge of the water like sandpipers. 

Our instructor was Sophie, a soft-spoken Swedish expat, living her sixth year in Costa Rica. She somehow got hooked on surfing and decided to live out that life.  She was one of the happiest people I met, smiling from under her bucket hat.  She was very encouraging, practically a superpower, and had a perfect method for turning beginners into surfers.

We stood in water to our chests, listened carefully to Sophie’s instructions, and then launched into the foamy surf.  Tim and Katherine took to it with grace and coordination, and both were quickly riding the waves all the way to the shore.

I fell enough times that you might think I was practicing falling and not surfing.  There was no risk of drowning, since usually I was in a few feet of water when I crashed, so hitting bottom was a literal and metaphorical reality.  But, in spite of getting water in my eyes, I kept at it.  Falling that is.

I finally got up on the board enough times to qualify as surfing.  Sophie said: “Once you’re up, try not to think about being on the board, and focus on something on shore. Look to where you want to go.”  Finally, the little lessons added up, and I was surfing. It was not pretty, looked like the board was doing all the surfing,

and I was just some rando along for the ride.

After a couple of hours, I had a good enough record of success that I felt satisfied in dragging my board to shore and watching everyone else surf. I sat on the sand, felt the saltwater drying on my skin, and the sun baking into me.  The aroma of the ocean combined with the smell of grilled chicken, and the occasional whiff of scented sunblock, wafted around me.

The waves seemed eternal, and they built size and shape as the afternoon progressed.  The tide came up and nearly filled the beach, and the families along the shore just shifted without comment.  More experienced surfers showed up, taking advantage of bigger curls, demonstrating to me what could be possible if I practiced.  For thirty years or so.

I don’t know when the chance to surf might arise again, but I won’t resist it, even with the risk of getting water in my eyes.  Turns out that’s not fatal. 

I learned a few things about surfing. And falling.  My favorite lesson from Sophie, along with her delighted enthusiasm, fit neatly with how she’d chosen her path in life. She wanted me to keep my balance, and not to get too twisted up about the technical details of the surfboard.  “Look to where you want to go.”

Hope this finds you stoked,

David

This essay was written by the author and does not include Ai content.

Copyright © 2026 David Smith