When I focus on getting better at something, it creates room for failure. I want only carefree pleasure from my down time
I’ve been surfing for almost 20 years now, but you wouldn’t guess it if you watched me. I’m the 30-something-year-old woman frolicking in the whitewash with the little tackers, whooping when I manage to stand up on a wave like a kid cycling for the first time without training wheels. After mornings full of spectacular stacks, I’ve spent many an afternoon slowly draining saltwater from my brain. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Supportive friends and well-wishers have suggested I take lessons, offered to be my mentor, or insisted I could improve if I trained harder. The implication is if I’m passionate about something, I should also be proficient. I say thanks, but I’m happy being a below-average surfer.
