On Fear, Facism, and Faceplanting in the Sea

So far, this surf season has been one for facing fears. Anyone who tells you that they've never get afraid when they surf is either lying to you, lying to themselves, or not pushing themselves hard enough. I feel afraid, at least a little bit, every single time I paddle out. Sometimes I'm afraid of the sea itself, and most of the time I'm afraid I'll make a fool out of myself. I used to be really afraid of falling, until I realized that if I'm not falling, I'm not surfing. My new favorite way to fall is dropping in on a wave and sliding down it belly-first, faceplanting, and skipping like a rock down the face of the wave. If all of that happens, it means I was on a big enough wave for all of that to happen, and that's amazing to me. These days 5-8 feet (just overhead for me) is my stretch zone; my goal for the end of this season is to get comfy at 8-12 feet (just about double-overhead for me) and that scares me in a good way.

I live in San Francisco and surfing here is well, different than anywhere else I've ever surfed. Ocean Beach has a reputation, and for good reason. The surf here, on any given day, is cold (the water temp is never higher than 60 degrees, and more often it's closer to 50-52 degrees). It's windy, it's foggy, and the current here is like none other. With the tide push (incoming tide) or the tide pull (outgoing tide) coming in and out of the San Francisco Bay from under the Golden Gate Bridge, it creates a strong north bound or south bound current up and down the beach that has been likened to a class 3 river. On top of that, Ocean Beach can get multi-directional swells and create riptides up and down the coast. Every winter we hear warnings of sneaker waves, and sadly with them, we hear of drownings of adults, children, and dogs alike. On the smaller, more manageable days, it can get crowded out there even though the peaks are spread out across four miles of coastline. But oh, on these sunny fall days, with crisp offshores and peaky A-frames, I'm convinced there's nowhere like it on earth.

OB's reputation kept me out of the ocean for my first few years of living here. I'm a seasoned surfer, but everything that I heard about it caused me to think twice about paddling out at "the beach". Right before the 2020 pandemic struck, I was lucky enough to eventually find my surf people, mostly women, and we started challenging each other to break the narrative that women don't surf OB. We started paddling out together on the smaller days and we brought joy and laughter to the lineup, all with the unspoken agreement to look after each other. Bianca Valenti has been full-sending it out there on the big days since forever and Sachi Cunningham has been documenting the proof. Getting rejected by the first, second, or third break at OB is a regular occurrence, even for the veterans. We created an unspoken surf crew buddy system, and that was enough to get me out in the lineup regularly for a few years. These days I am jazzed if I get out there and see one other woman at whichever break I find myself.

What they don't tell you about growing older though, is that lives and friendships change. People have kids, they move to new places, and they unfortunately, get sick. Relationships evolve and careers and families dictate our schedules. The people that have had my back in the lineup, and I have had theirs, no longer have the freedom and flexibility to paddle out day after day. I'm fortunate enough with my new career to be able to do so a few times per week, in-between clients and teaching classes and workshops. I've not yet had the blessings of a child to keep me up at all hours of the night and out of the water during the day. After 25 years of surfing, I still feel a little bit (and sometimes a lot) of fear every time I paddle out at OB, especially if I'm doing so on my own. At some point though, I had to make a decision- to either gear up and paddle out solo, or to go weeks on end (especially in the fall and winter) without surfing at all. Surfing is a form of mental, emotional, and spiritual resistance, recognized by global and indigenous civillizations for millenia, so I'm finally facing my fears and getting over my (what I've come to realize is) surfing codependency. In my line of work as a therapist, surfing is how I keep myself going in my little corner of decolonial work.

What does any of this have to do with fascism? Other than the growing obvious connection of the timing of this post and the national (and global) reality of geo-political leadership, I was curious about a decade ago to dig into the root of the word fascism. Fasc- comes from the latin word fascis meaning a "bundle" or more illustratively, a bundle of sticks, or leather straps. Linguists and physiotherapists have been playing with the connection of the words fascia and fascism for a long time. George Orwell was fasc-inated with the question "what is fascism" and posited that it was the most important question of his time (World War II).

Lincoln Mitchell, on the Economics and Beyond podcast says that "creating fear is the fascist playbook." He connects the ways that fascist regimes rely on fear of the other - fear of the brown or black person, fear of the trans community, fear of economic loss at the hands of your neighbor or the other political party. Fascism thrives and relies on fear, so facing our fears, turning toward our neighbors, and believing in ourselves and our communities is the way to defeat it.

I've been surfing for over 25 years, and over and over again, my biggest barrier to surfing has always been myself, my fears, and my sense of disbelonging out in the ocean. For others, systemic barriers like transportation, redlining practices, gender exclusion, and economic insecurity have been the biggest barriers. I can turn my fears outward and blame the other surfers in the lineup for my sense of disbelonging, or I can turn inward to face the fascist within who keeps me on the shoreline by questioning my felt sense of safety, belonging, and self worth in a place where I have felt more comfortable than on land my whole life. When the human world of linear rules, concrete, capitalism, and authoritarianism doesn't make any sense, I can go to the ocean where the cyclical organization of it more naturally reflects my cyclical nature and neurodivergent mind. I understand the organization of the sea, even when it appears like there isn't any. I don't always understand human nature and its need to compete with each other and reliance on scare-city economics.

I could listen to the fear, insecurity, and hate-fueled comments online about "kooks" and "etiquette" in the lineup that have consistently had me second-guessing every drop in since I was 13, every paddle out, and every aggressive interaction I've ever encountered out there, or I could turn toward these people with curiosity (or away from them in deflection, whatever is safe and needed at the time). Most importantly I can keep my head held high, knowing that 95% of the time, those reactions are projections of their own inner realities, rather than the ones they think they see in me and other women, people of color, and trans and queer folx in the lineup. Someone can spout off about etiquette all day long, and in the end, if I'm safe, and if you're safe, and if I know what I'm doing out there and you know what we're doing out there, we all belong. Even if we make mistakes.

I've seen videos of the pro-iest of pros, the bro-iest of bros cutting each other off in the lineup and "kooking out" as they say, so I will not let the possibility that I might "be in someone else's way" or be "taking someone else's wave" keep me from going out, or paddling into a wave anymore. The amount of time I've spent second-guessing myself in the name of imposter syndrome has held me back, and I'm done with that. It's okay to fall. It's okay to make mistakes. This is how we learn. This is how we get better. This is how we face our fears. If we aren't failing, we aren't trying. If we aren't falling, we aren't surfing.