This will be short, and when I have more time in the next few days, I'll write more specifically about the breaks I surfed in Costa Rica before I forget. (And, SurfSis, I rode both the 7'0" I brought but by Wednesday, I decided I was on vacation and didn't want to work for my waves so I borrowed a 9'2" epoxy from the surf camp AND a 10'2" epoxy which totally rocked!!! -- more on that later.)
I once had a surf buddy who said, "Surfing is my life."
I kinda thought he was an idiot anyway, so my initial pause and raise of my eyebrow was not so abnormal a reaction. But I had a feeling that the statement was sort of weird and pathetic even if it were out of the mouth of someone less moronic.
Last week, probably about two days into being carted around to different sites and chasing surf all day to get skunked with windblown chop, I was surfed out. Never mind the 80-degree air and 75-degree water, forget the sparsely populated shoreline and surfing in boardshorts. I wanted no more. I realized my inner curmudgeon liked routine. I like to get my surfing in the morning and be done with it. I don't like spending an hour looking for the perfect spot because by mid-morning every break has a high probability of sucking anyway: sucking by wind, sucking by tide, sucking by crowds.
I discovered that surfing is NOT my life and I was relieved. Surfing is just one part of my life. It's definitely a part of my life that defines certain choices I will make in the future: choosing where I live, choosing my morning alarm settings, choosing my vacation spots... But surfing is not all of my life and I am glad to recognize that I need balance.