Surfing on the Gold Coast felt like a rite of passage. Of course we had to try it.
Luckily, the surf school nearest to us also had the best instructor (in my opinion!). Rohan was the perfect balance of wise, chilled and supportive. He gave us a simple step-by-step guide, and let us have plenty of time practising.
In our first lesson, he held our board to keep it straight, and gave us a push. There was a moment when you suddenly felt like you were flying. You caught the wave. You kept your eyes up and on the beach. You pushed your chest up and somehow got your feet in position. You stand up slowly from a squat and you don’t really know how, but you’ve done it! You’re surfing. The wave then runs out of steam and you fall off. The salty ocean washes over you, you look back. You hear a whistle and a whoop from Rohan. You look up to the sun. You feel a thrill that you wish everyone can feel.
Then, you have to trudge back against the current, fighting for your life just to stay stood up and keep your board with you. After failing to catch some waves, you float back to shore. The end of the lesson marks the end of playtime.
In the second lesson, you try on your own and flip over sideways multiple times. You look at Rohan with a sad childlike look, wondering what went wrong. ‘Don’t really know mate, you did the right things, just happens sometimes.’
There was something about the honesty from this experienced Aussie surf instructor with grey curly hair that stuck with me. For some reason, it motivated me to try and try again. To fail and figure it out. To trudge back over and over. To battle the winds and the ocean. I’d manage to block out everyone else in the lesson.
I like that there was no one else I could let down except myself. I like that there were no standards to meet. I like that there were no expectations. I like that it’s fun. I like that it’s ultimately playing in the water. I like that, so far, I always get brought back to shore.
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