Timed to pull me out of my reverie just before first light, the alarm buzzes. I roll out of bed and into my bikini. Hazy and half asleep, I stumble into the bathroom, lifting one leg at a time. I slide the bottom half of my body into my 5 mm wetsuit. The wetsuit, left to dry from the day before, shocks me with its cool temperature, leaving me feeling a little more awake. With my hair in a ponytail, I pull on my surfing hood over my head, find the neck of the wetsuit behind my back, tug it over my head, and zip the front zipper that crosses my chest diagonally. With each step, more cold transfers onto my skin. This never fails to send a shiver through my body.

I invert the wetsuit around my ankles by pulling it up. I then slide on my wet boots before rolling the wetsuit down over the boots. Now my feet are atop a puddle of water inside the neoprene boots. This puddle of water will soon be a source of warmth. I twist my earplugs in and slip on my crab claw gloves, also 5 mm of neoprene.

I am in my dawn patrol uniform. Out in the hallway, I pick up my board under one arm. I pull the handle of the front door with force, swinging it as far open as it would go, and rush out. I only ever make it half out before it threatens to slam right into my surfboard, and so I maneuver my way, slowly inching out while keeping the door open.

I drag my surfboard down the two flights of stairs, and I am finally out in the open. Suddenly, my adrenaline picks up. It always does. A mixture of cold winter air, yesterday’s seawater on my skin, and the anticipation of a surf session. I feel the excitement rise up inside me as much as the first time I stood up on a board. The feeling never gets old. Excitement and adrenaline propelled by the chance that I might get to be the very first person in the ocean today, I start running with the surfboard under my left arm towards the vast open ocean. It is waiting for me to ride its powerful energy.

My breed has been called by a number of different names over time. Dawn patrol, for we patrol the ocean at dawn, hunting for good waves. Storm riders, for we ride waves right after a storm has taken place. And because a storm has taken place and I am out at first light, this morning I am both a dawn patroller and a storm rider.

I never surf in the storm. It is too dangerous. But like storms, there is uncertainty in surfing. There is uncertainty in every single wave. Out in the ocean, it is you versus Mother Nature. Mother Nature can work in your favour, but she owes you nothing. Not even your life. Knowing this is both horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. You are at her utter mercy. Every single wave is different; every single ride is different. You would never try to master each and every wave. You’d only try to master the method of understanding how to navigate those waves. This is one of the most humbling experiences in life.

No two waves are the same. There is too much at play. The depth of the bed beneath the water; the material that the bed is made from; the wind speed; the wind duration; the distance of wind travel over open water; direction of tide; the speed of tide. Each wave is a new adventure; a new obstacle course; a new landscape. But the more time you spend in the water learning to be with the wave; make friends with it; ride it, the more you become in sync. Each wave is a lesson to be learnt, a part of you to be torn down and shaped. Some waves are more unforgiving than others, but learning to ride them—to have faith in your method—is learning to get better at trusting your gut instinct.

Mother Nature and its force through the strength of the swell has lessons to teach, and if you are willing to learn, each wave will teach you something and serve to reshape you towards a different being.

***

Caryn Tan is a writer, installation artist and bodyworker. She writes a bi-weekly newsletter reflecting on her life, choices and unfolding on becomingcaryn.substack.com. Her creative non-fiction Langkawi was published in the fall edition of Present Tense in 2022. She is Malaysian-Chinese, born in Penang, grew up in Australia and lived in London for over a decade. Criss-crossing the worlds of tech, education, AI ethics and building online communities, she now nomads and is ready to write more seriously.

Social media handles:

Substack: https://becomingcaryn.substack.com/
Instagram: @carynunfolding