To my right lay the coastal town of Biarritz, a cluster of red-roofed buildings hugging a rocky outcrop in southwest France. To my left stretched a distant smudge of mountains that might or might not have been part of Spain. And in front of me were rolling ocean waves, which I would soon attempt to ride.
I wore a wetsuit beneath a long, yellow T-shirt, the peeling lettering on which identified me as a student in surf school. A leash around my ankle tethered me to a surfboard. The leash was to keep the board from escaping if I fell. Throughout my lesson, this leash would do its job many, many times.
The mechanics of surfing are as follows. Lay on your board. Paddle as the wave approaches. Push up from your board a moment after it arrives and then stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Plant your back foot and shift your weight towards the front. Bend your knees. Maintain your balance.
Along with half a dozen other beginners, I practiced these moves over and over on land before entering the water. But whereas earth holds your board steady, water is, you know, liquid. Every time I tried the movements on an actual wave, I would lose my balance and tumble into the surf.
“Il faut que tu sois vite!” one of the instructors urged.
My problem, he said, was that I hesitated too much. When a wave came, I wasn’t sure of the right moment to stand, and so I would wait too long, and the water would overtake me.
The instructors didn’t expect us to become pro surfers, but they wanted us to get comfortable enough with these movements to be able to do them——uh——fluidly. Which meant, I would, over and over again, prepare for a wave, only to hesitate, and then try to stand too late, whereupon I would fall helplessly into the water.
“Encore,” the instructors would encourage. Again.
So I would get back on the board and do it again.
In life, as in surfing, I hesitate. When I have to make a decision, I waver between possible courses of action until the day of decision-making arrives and I suddenly have to make a choice, any choice. As I wrote in a previous post1, it’s the anticipation that kills me.
In traveling, this drama has played out in miniature a dozen times. Every time I choose a new destination, my mind runs through the same process: I have to decide where I want to go, and I have to figure out where I’ll stay when I get there, and I have to figure out how to get there. But what if I overpay for the train, or what if the hostel has bedbugs, or what if I should go somewhere else instead, or what if——and then I have worked myself into a tizzy, and I cannot think about it anymore, and I so put off the decision for a while longer.
It is not lost on me how tremendously fortunate I am to be able to make these kinds of decisions. But I am not yet comfortable with making them, and that is what I am trying to work on now.
One of the reasons I wanted to undertake this period of travel was to help with my indecision. I’d heard how travel can build confidence, and I figured that, out on my own, I’d have to make decisions. Otherwise, I’d be stuck.
I have now been traveling for six weeks. Every time I move to a new location, I still waver over the destination, juggle a dozen possible hostels, and lose myself in a web of train station timetables.
But with each repetition of this routine, my sense of overwhelm has diminished. I’m quicker to find my way to a good train. I know what I need in a hostel. And I am relaxing the idea that there is a “right” path, so I can be happy with the path I’m actually on.
I find it's like working with sandpaper, one stroke at a time, to turn a rough surface smooth.
Back at the beach, I fell into the water, again, and climbed back onto my board, again; fell into the water, and climbed back on my board, again; fell into the water, climbed back on my board. Again.
The routine was, admittedly, getting old.
But with each attempt, I bent my knees a little more. I got the timing better. I held my balance longer.
Suddenly, momentously, I crouched on my surfboard, and I stuck my arms way out to the sides, and there I was on top of a wave, grinning uncontrollably, wobbling as it coursed beneath me.
Once the wave died down, I sloshed through the water towards the teachers. “Je l’ai fait!” I whooped. “I did it!”
One nodded sagely.
“Encore,” he instructed.
Thus, I paddled out again.
It’s the Anticipation That Kills You. (It’s weird to footnote yourself!)
So relatable! It's a learned skill to overcome that hesitation and develop what you know to be true for yourself, what you need and want, and then POUNCE! when the opportunity, decision presents...like a chat. ;-) Good for you for working toward mastering this in your younger years, it will serve you well with each passing day.
Building your decision making speed and skills will serve you well.