Waikiki

I Never Knew His Name….

But he sure knew how to use his head. 

I was killing time in between soccer games on the island of Oahu. It had been a rough year and I could use a little salt water cure. So taking advantage of the rare free time given when traveling as part of a college soccer team, I grabbed a cheap surf board rental and took to the waves. 

As I headed down to the surf, I met up with a few of my teammates. The team was staying at Waikiki beach, known for tourists and small, soft waves. Boards in hand, I gave them the limited surfing knowledge I had as we paddled out. They were all sharing boards, two or three girls per board, so after almost an hour had passed by, they paddled in, exhausted from treading water and crashing. I, refusing to lose a second of my time on the surf, had my own board and was loving it out there, determined to soak up every second I got to spend on the ocean. 

It was a beautiful moment. Late afternoon, the sun was golden over the cresting waves, diamond head peaking over the downtown skyscrapers. It was a surreal moment of clarity as I was out there lost in my thoughts. I paddled out a bit and was lucky enough to catch some waves. Watching the sets come in, I was content and happy for the first time in a long time. 

That’s when he caught my eye. 

The waves at Waikiki are small ones. It is known as beginner beach for surfing, mostly frequented by tourists staying at the lavish hotels. Yet this guy was the stereotype of a hawaiian surfer. He was tan from being out in the saltwater, strong in the way only manual labor can make you strong, with long, tangled hair bleached from the sun. He looked the part of a local.  

But it wasn’t his look that caught my eye. He was clearly the best surfer out that day, and more importantly, seemed to be having the most fun. He had this infectious vibe. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning as he jumped on his board, trying out new tricks over and over again.

On one wave, after tumbling off his board, he popped back up, pushing his hair back and duck diving under a cresting wave, he resurfaced to see my laughter. Paddling over he came to say hello. 

He asked what could have made me laugh so hard as I confessed to him that I was envious of his talents and carefree nature. We began chatting and I begged for a few pointers so I could emulate the surfing culture I so admired. After talking boards, waves, and sets, I tried my best to take his advice, yet found myself crashing despite his wise words.

Laughing at me as I paddled back out after a particularly terrible crash, he smiled, giving me the words that would stick with me; “crashing is an underrated skill. That one deserves a round of applause.” 

I couldn't help but relax with him. We began talking about our lives. He was curious on how I had ended up on this particular beach. After I told my soccer story, I turned the question on him. He reveled that he was just a guy from Ohio. He had gone to university, gotten a tech job at apple right out of graduation, and then was given a promotion and the option to relocate to Hawaii or California. He felt Hawaii was calling his name. 

But after a few months, he began to question his lifestyle. He was spending every sunny day in an office. He then realized the money wasn’t worth it. Quitting his job he found another setting up and taking down beach umbrellas for the resorts. Most days he started and ended this way, captaining a catamaran on off days. Today, he was spending his off hours working on some new tricks. 

I was amazed. He was a self taught surfer and sailor since quitting his corporate job and hasn't looked back since. Listening to him speak, I couldn’t help but regret all the time I had been spending in Marin, an area based off commuter workers and tech industries where people’s lives revolved around their jobs. It wasn’t until I was sitting on that board that I realized how desperately I had missed people like him. People living for the sake of everyday happiness, rather than an ever increasing bank account. 

…

Laughing as we surfed, the waves started to die down. They were slow rollers. Looking at me and smiling, he instructed me to watch carefully. He informed me that all great surfers know that when the waves start to roll, they have to use their head. 

Intrigued and confused at the statement, I watched as he began paddling. The wave caught the board and instead of popping up on his feat, he rolled his body into a headstand as the wave pushed him towards the shore. 

I was in awe. To be able to surf is one thing, to do it on your head is beyond belief. 

Rejoining me, he threw his head back laughing at my expression, reminding me that crashing takes talent too, and that trick came with more than one hard hitting fall. Together we spent the next hour or so chatting about nothing as the sun began to set behind us. Realizing the time, we both had to catch one last wave in. He had work to return to, I had to get back to the team hotel. 

Walking our boards back to the beach we said our goodbyes, hoping to see each other out on the waves a few more times before I flew back to California. 

…

I never saw him again. I found time to surf a few times over the next few days, but spent that time alone on the waves, trying my best to stay on my feet. I never learned his name, but he was the reminder I needed to relax and unwind. He gave me permission to appreciate my failures after a rough season and to learn that crashing is an underrated skill. 

He reminded me that when the waves don’t crash perfectly, when things don’t turn out the way you had hoped, when you feel lost… that is the moment creativity is born. He taught me how to use my head on the slow waves. 

So thank you surfer boy. Please keep laughing on that board of yours. Maybe one day I’ll see you on the waves in California.