What Role Does Ego Play In Our Surfing?

Some friends were in town to visit, and as I paddled back out, a buddy said, “Hey, I saw you claim that wave.

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“You looked back at us to make sure we were watching,” he said, laughing.

Over beers later, I admitted that I’d looked back at my crew as I kicked out; but at least in my head, it wasn’t to gloat; it was to share the stoke. “It’s not like I held up my fist or anything,” I added.

“You also didn’t do anything cool enough to warrant that,” another buddy said.

My weak backside cutbacks notwithstanding, something compelled me to search out recognition. Does this mean I have an ego, or was I just stoked to be surfing with old friends? What role does ego play in our surfing?

Did You See My Wave?

There’s something about the rhythm of riding waves that makes us want someone to witness the act. Perhaps this is because every wave presents a unique challenge to overcome, and when surfers ask: “Did you see that?” it’s reminiscent of how children constantly call out “watch me,” or “watch this!” Surfing returns us to our child’s mind, and for a couple of hours we become wholly obsessed with glorified water toys.

Surfing, too, is temporal. Despite the presence of surf watches and Cam Rewind, many of our waves are rapidly replaced by other waves, and then the glittering minutia of our busy lives: family, work, fish tacos. The fleeting feeling of being in the pocket is difficult to describe, particularly to non-surfers, and it can be frustrating to try.

Surfers cope with this transience by living vicariously through others. Still-lifes in surf mags, and surf vids on loop may have been replaced by infinite reels of airs and barrels, but they still placate us when we’re out of the water. Maybe we want to be seen landing that air or flying out of a spitting barrel because we spend so much time drooling over footage of our heroes – or our peers – doing the same. 

Style is Visual

Surfing is also a performance, and performances are rarely only self serving. I’m reminded of a session last fall where I ended up bullshitting with the guy next to me. He said he hadn’t surfed in months because of work, I admitted I was nursing an injury, and for an hour, we cheered each other on. After one of my last waves, he called over, “Yeah man, that looked cool!” 

First, this was the best feedback I’ve received. Typically my “Hey, babe, did you catch any of my waves?” is met with, “Nope, can you grab me a Corona from the cooler?” Second, the dude’s compliment focused on the aesthetics of my swallow-tail snapping off the lip, not the feel of it. When we’re surfing, who’re we trying to impress? Ourselves, because riding waves is purely for sensation; or the person bobbing next to us?

Regardless, style is everything in surfing, and just as we can watch a surfer stumble through a long, rambling right and deem it “forced,” we can watch a different surfer slide easily through the same wave and praise their sense of flow.

Are Surfers Selfish?

Style aside, is it selfish to wake up at dawn and spend two hours doing something that is so self indulgent? Doing things because you love the feeling of it isn’t necessarily egotistical. Of course, surfing is not synonymous to something like teaching: our actions do not result in pleasure or knowledge for anyone but ourselves; though you could argue that professional surfers, and especially big-wave chargers risk their lives entertaining us. 

A better question might be: is your early morning session any different from waking up to go running or to take a class? Surfing is a great workout, but it probably won’t set most of us up with a new job. Yet, riding waves is a perpetual “class” in human nature and the cycles of the ocean, among other things. 

At the same time, our modern surf sessions are as full of shakas and dolphins as they are with egos and alpha energy. We all know what it’s like to surf a new spot and be met with haughty glares before we even paddle out. Style-master Devon Howard equates stylish longboarding to dancing; so why do we take surfing so seriously?

Part of the answer is that as beloved spots are overrun, and surfers are increasingly defensive and territorial, both learning and good vibes take a back seat. A favorite spot of mine in New England that will remain unnamed drew crowds of 20 on a decent day a decade ago; now there’s easily 100 people battling it out. It’s the way of the Wavestorm – I mean, world these days, and it creates a greedy desire to have every wave to ourselves. Our desire to be seen, though, conflicts with the lure of solitary sessions and the chance at an empty wave. 

How Waves Disappear

On a rainy morning last winter, I paddled back out, grinning, and realized I was the only one left. I scanned the surf and the beach, wondering if someone had seen my wave. Way down the shore, a fisherman cast his line and paid me no mind, and I wasn’t in the range of a Surfline cam. As soon as I kicked out, my performance on the wave ceased to exist, and only lives on in my increasingly unreliable memory. If you want to get more abstract, to share a wave with someone else is to keep it alive.

Perhaps this is no different from creating something as an artist, and ultimately wanting people to see it. Write a song, and at some point, you’ll need to share it with someone besides the unenthused downstairs neighbors. The same goes with a book, a sculpture, and perhaps an endless left.

Confidence vs. Ego

Where does confidence, the ego’s little sibling, fit in here? Surfers clearly need confidence to charge, and sometimes our best surfing is governed by raw instincts. In sports, and many pursuits, there is a fine line between confidence that sets you up for success and hubris that makes the person tough to be around. Great athletes and performers are often convinced beyond any doubt that they are the best, from Michael Jordan to Kelly Slater. Their powerful sense of self belief inspires them to do whatever it takes to win.

Regardless of the surfer’s ability level, when he or she slips into a flow state, they often feel that they are one step ahead of the breaking waves and everyone else in the lineup. At the same time, too much ego destroys our chance to become better. If we choose a board, for example, based on our pride and not our skill level, we’ll never improve. If we make excuses about our poor performance, then we won’t advance. Even more vital, if we don’t respect the power of the ocean, we can hurt ourselves. Or worse.

Surfers’ relationship with ego is complex and full of paradoxes, but that doesn’t mean we should stop surfing, or stop asking questions without easy answers. I’ll leave you with this one: if a surfer is barreled with no one else around, did they really get barreled? 

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