Photo from We Approach Our Martinis With Such High Expectations, by Jamie Brisick

In contrast, what surfing means to me is exemplified by this little passage from my new book, part of the subtitle to which is a Tale of a Lost Surfer’s Paradise:

But Christ I needed a surf.

In waiting for a wave, in sitting out there between sets, bad thoughts, obsessive thoughts, will surface, but while actually riding, while standing up and searching for that rhythm, no matter how awful the day I’m having my mind is clean and clear and blank and therefore content. I have never, not ever, had a conscious thought, good, bad or indifferent, while in the act of riding a wave. I needed that purity, that vacuum.

For the first time in my life I armed myself for a trip to the beach.

Yes, a Lost Surfer’s Paradise: Is it the paradise that is lost, or the surfer?