You Suck At Your Hobbies And That’s Okay
It doesn’t happen often but it happened today. Today I couldn’t make it to the lineup. The paddle out to the lineup was 150 yards or so of the leftovers of this big winter swell we had in San Diego. Insert record scratch– The lineup? What didn’t happen again? The lineup is the spot where surfers form a little queue (pardon my British) to catch the next wave. I’ve been surfing for nearly 10 years and I can’t make it to the damn lineup. The following is my defense.
Some people live for big, powerful, monstrous-looking waves and don’t bother even going out if a wall of water isn’t towering overhead. Others prefer smaller surf, where man and nature have agreed to coexist in a peaceful harmony and where those in the water don’t have to fear for their lives every 30 seconds.
Which camp do I belong to? Well, you could take a wild guess based off that last paragraph, but just in case you needed extra clarification my go-to board is a 9’7” noserider that looks like a giant banana, meant for small, mellow, friendly, won’t-kill-you-if-you-don’t-make-it waves. You know– for non-psychopaths.
Unfortunately, I had just recently established a standing Tuesday morning surf session with my buddy, a 40-something year-old dude, who grew up surfing up and down San Diego.
He’s as local as one can be. I’m talking about knowing all the right conditions for every surf spot: What kind of tide does Sunset Cliffs like, putting up with the sketchy quality in IB because the way it barrels is worth it, hating the paddle out in Del Mar but only because he grew up there and surfed it so many times, or knowing how to deal with crusty locals at South Mission. When it comes to San Diego surf, my buddy knows it all and is unfortunately (for me) one of those psychopaths who live for big surf that I mentioned before.
Fast-forward to today and we try out *******’* [REDACTED] and it’s an 8-10ft mix of softer crumbly waves mixed with thicker slabs of water. Against my better judgment, I follow my buddy down a cliff, onto a rocky beach where every step is an entire solefull of pain.
Thoughts start racing through my mind,“This is a lot of moving water. You don’t typically surf remote reef breaks. You surf lifeguarded sandy beach breaks 99% of the time. You know you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. And, you have eye surgery in a couple of days so you should already be playing it safe. You shouldn’t do this–”
Then, my buddy’s voice, “Hey– you ready?”
“Oh, born ready!” I exclaim.
I was not ready.
You can’t bullshit nature. And I was swallowed up from the get-go and pounded by wave after wave as I tried to break through to get to the lineup. My buddy who started his paddle next to me was now just a little black speck joining the other floating specks in the distance. I was in the no man’s land zone where I needed to punch through a couple waves to make it outside of the impact zone.
Hoping I could get through, I turtle roll under a wave that trashes my board and I under the surface. Just as I reemerge, I see another oncoming wave, this one bigger than the next. I completely abandon my bulky longboard and just try to get under the wave, making sure to keep calm and maintain my breath under the icy water.
First, an explosion. Then, WHOOSH! I am pulled in all different directions with the force of what feels like a linebacker tackling you at full speed. I don’t know which way is up and I’m running out of air in my lungs. I am not calm anymore.
I somehow found a way to make it back to the surface, gasping for air. I claw for my board and point it towards the shoreline in an effort to boogie board it back to safety. Another wave crashes nearby and I mount my board, ready to ride the whitewater in. But this whitewater had a surprising amount of buck to it and hurls me off my board and back into the ocean where I am tossed around the washing machine once again. But, I do make it back to the shore and welcome the awful pain of stepping on every rock imaginable with open arms.
What’s tough is that most surfing days are not like this, but it’s experiences like this one where you start to reevaluate the pipe dreams you had about picking up a surfboard, getting noticed, becoming sponsored, and then winning the surfing Triple Crown.
Sometimes I forget that our hobbies can just remain as that: a hobby. Something that you can do for fun. It can be hard to remember the point of the hobby when you’ve done it for so long and invested so much time and effort into it and you’re still not where you want to be. Maybe there is something to be said about the fact that I feel the need to perform at a high level because if I don't, I feel like I wasted my time. But take it from me, you don’t have to be good at your hobbies. Welcome the fact that you might suck at them from time to time and be O.K. with that. Because even though you’re on the rocky shoreline watching your psychotic buddy send it on waves you have nightmares about, at least you’re alive to surf another day.
by
Nate Velasco
JAN 2024
