I’m back in the UK for the first time in two months. My wife and I (plus our faithful dog Otis) made our annual pilgrimage to the southwest of France. Working - yes. But also surfing, hiking, eating, enjoying good wine, and generally embracing a change of scenery and culture.

How am I feeling about being back in London? Well we’ve booked a french visa consultation for tomorrow if that’s anything to go by! After 4 years, we’ve made the decision to try to move on a go-for-a-year-and-then-see-what-happens basis, all made inordinately more complicated by that famous British act of self-harm - Brexit.

Arriving back has been busy - catching up with existing coaching clients; working on a big product development transition with an advisory client; and crafting a proposal for the 80 person leadership team of a public company alongside another Evolution Partner. There’s also a new podcast project underway which I’m excited to share more about soon.

This is all me building up to an excuse for why writing has slipped a bit of late. So this edition felt like an opportune moment to dig something out of the writing archive - a reflection on a lifelong passion for surfing and the sea - after which usual service will continue.

Take care out there.

Lessons from Salty Water

When I was 11 years old, we moved from East Anglia (the driest part of England), to Devon (the wettest). For the first few months I thought my parents were enacting a cruel punishment. When I say it rained endlessly, I mean days and days and days, which turned into weeks and weeks and weeks of deluge and downpour. This was catastrophic weather even by the UK’s meagre standards. Indignant 11 year old me, with the help of my equally indignant and miserable 13 year old brother, were on the verge of an all-out revolt…then we discovered that we lived near the sea.

Since 11 year old me discovered our newfound proximity to a surfing beach, I’ve had a deep love of the sea. I like to swim in it, occasionally sail on it, but mostly to surf in/on/with it. To me, it’s a place of fun and joy and play; but as I’ve got older I also recognise it as a place of connection, calm and mental rejuvenation. The sea has been a great teacher in my life so here are my lessons from salty water.

1. Know what’s in your control and what’s not

The sea, as with life, is an untameable beast. Try as you might to will a great swell or a perfect wave into existence, the sea will send what it wants your way. You can of course be well prepared - have the right board for the conditions, be in good physical fitness, know what the tides are doing that day - but much of your role in the water is learning to read what’s going on around you and working with what’s there. Trying to always be in control is a surefire means of making yourself miserable.

2. There is such thing as trying too hard

If ever I enter the water with too much of a sense of tension and conscious effort, I inevitably suck. All of a sudden my body seems to be made of sharp angles making disjointed movements. I somehow feel like I’m less buoyant - that I’m sitting lower in the water - making everything feel more effortful. If I do catch a good wave then I get in my own head about surfing it well, inevitably screwing up and falling in the process.

On other days, when I let go of the effort and the expectation then things somehow just flow more easily. I’m still not a great surfer but everything feels different. I’m made of curves rather than angles; I glide across the water rather than feel like I’m sinking into it; I surf each wave intuitively trusting what I need to do next rather than getting caught in my own head. Sometimes the outcome is just better when you’re less attached to it.

3. Appreciate the whole experience

When people think of surfing they likely picture someone stood on a wave - that is surfing after all. But, if I’m in the water for 3 hours, then on a good day maybe I get 10 really good waves an hour, and on average surf each wave for 10 seconds - that’s 5 cumulative minutes being on my feet out of 180 minutes in the water. If all I enjoy is those moments I’m on my feet, then I’m having fun about 3% of the time. Doesn’t exactly sound inspiring.

So learning to appreciate it all is key. The paddle out, the fresh sea air, the views from the water, the quiet moments staring longingly at the horizon, the frantic excitement when you see a set coming, the moments of terror when you realise you’re in the wrong place and about to get slammed - it’s all there to be appreciated.

4. Don’t underestimate the impact of your energy on others

Although surfing has this laid back reputation, the truth is often pretty different. A lot of surf spots are controlled by locals who guard their break fiercely, sometimes giving off a general air of ‘you’re not welcome here’, sometimes resorting to more extreme measures. Arguments are frequent in the water, and physical fights are not uncommon. So if, like me, you do a bit of travel and are often surfing in places that aren’t your home break then it’s easy for the love of surfing to be replaced by fear and trepidation.

What I have learnt over the years though is how much your energy and approach will influence the collective atmosphere. There are the basics, like saying hello (preferably in the local language) to all those you encounter in the water, or following surf etiquette to ensure you don’t commit the mortal sin of ‘dropping in’ (catching a wave in front of someone else who has the priority over you based on where they are in the water). But nothing shifts the energy in the water like celebrating wildly for a stranger whose just had a great wave. Be the person in the water who you’d want to surf with, not the one contributing to the unfriendliness.

5. Learn when to wait for the second wave

As a quick oceanography 101 - waves usually get created when wind energy is transferred into the sea i.e. high winds or a storm in one area start to push the water creating swell, which can then travel long distances across whole oceans, usually gathering into groups or ‘sets’ which, when they come to a place where the seafloor gets shallower, momentarily increase in size and change shape into a wave (the point at which we want to surf them) before breaking. Nothing new to you I’m sure. What that means though is surfing can be a game of patience. Some days it will seem like wave after wave appears with consistency, but more often than not, the waves arrive in sets with periods of waiting in between.

When a wave eventually appears, the temptation is to go for it immediately. Sometimes, if the waves are inconsistent, you can see there’s nothing coming behind, and you’re in the right place and have priority, then going for it might be the right call. What can happen though, is that in your excitement you paddle frantically for the first wave, miss it or have to back out as you’re not in the right spot, and then turn around to see a series of great waves now heading for exactly the spot you were in a moment a go.

There is a skill and intuition to be developed, knowing when you’re in the right place to capitalise on that first wave or when you should have patience, let that one pass you by as others paddle for it, and hope to be rewarded for your patience.

6. When you commit, commit boldly

Surfing is all about timing. As you start to paddle for a wave, you periodically glimpse over your shoulder to judge whether or not you’re set to be in the right place at the right time. If your judgement tells you ‘no’ early enough then you back out, turn towards it, and try to get beyond it before it breaks.

Sometimes though, things are a little less clear. You keep paddling trying to end up in the right spot and find yourself at a critical point of commitment - right at the top of the wave staring down the steep face of it just moments before it might start to break. In surfing parlance we call this a ‘late takeoff’ i.e. you probably should have caught the wave earlier and now it’s at its steepest and you’re at risk of getting slammed by it as it breaks. It’s in that moment at the top of the wave that you have a split second decision to make - try for an emergency exit, with the risk that the wave takes you anyway and you go tumbling head first, or get to your feet and go for it. The bigger the surf, the higher the stakes of this decision.

Whatever your decision, sometimes it will prove right and sometimes wrong, but if you do commit then doing so boldly by getting to your feet quickly and getting your weight centred, gives you a far greater chance of having a great wave or at least surviving unscathed. When you only half commit you maximise your chance of getting tumbled along the sea floor.

7. Don’t take what you have for granted

In the UK we have a brewing water quality scandal. Only 14% of British rivers are in good ecological health, with 384,000 cases of raw sewage discharge into rivers being self-reported by the 11 large water companies in 2022, all whilst Execs at said companies continue to take home large bonuses. There’s something not right there. And of course sewage is just one example amongst many - plastic, agricultural pollutants, the impact of a changing climate. None of it spells great news for the sea I hold so dear.

So there’s an important takeway for me here - not just to cherish it whilst I can, but also to channel the anger I feel about it into something positive - I’m in talks with one of the UK’s largest charities for water quality about coaching their exec team pro bono - it’s one small way I’ve identified to contribute. I hope I identify others.

8. Do it for the sheer bloody love of it

In so much of life we do things that are wrapped up in status, competition or our perception of how ‘useful’ the thing is (often as it relates to status). I’m not a great surfer, nor will I probably ever be, but if I can be the person in the water having the most fun then I can have the greatest experience of surfing. It needn’t be any more or less than that.

9. It’s all connected

So much about the sea blows my mind. The wave I surfed this morning began as a gust of wind in Florida. The tide I saw rise as I surfed, did so because of the gravitational pull of the moon. The molecules of water around me will soon arrive in new places, carried by ocean currents or falling as rain. I don’t know how it’s all connected, only that it is.