Under The Influence

Like waves, I am simply a product of my environment. Oceanographers are good at predicting how a wave will break—or at least explaining why a wave behaves the way it does after the fact. They understand a wave is shaped by external forces: swell size, bathymetry, tides, and wind.

What, then, explains my behavior?

I like to believe my identity, motivations, and actions come from a pure inner source—a soul living somewhere between my heart and my head. This soul, I tell myself, is unique, transcends biological life, and makes me special.

It's a nice thought.

But in my clearest moments, I know this isn't the case. I'm simply a product of my environment, an animal reacting to outside influences. The people I spend time with, the podcasts I listen to, and even the cities I visit and the waves I ride all shape me imperceptibly.

Although I've heard surfing described as "an undeniable expression of the inner soul," I find my surfing more reflective of these external forces—easily influenced and changing on a regular basis. After watching pro surfers on fast, powerful waves, I find myself wanting to take out a smaller board and surf top-to-bottom. I take a more aggressive stance, push harder into turns, and throw more water. On the rare occasion that I tune into a surf competition with friends, I later catch myself jockeying in the lineup, competing for waves and surfing for a score from non-existent judges.

The Instagram feed is another dangerous influence. More than a time-suck, it acts like a current pulling me toward an idealized, unattainable version of the sport. The more clips I see of great waves and pro surfers, the worse I feel about my own experience. My rational brain knows these are highlight reels—the best wave of the day from a professional on a perfect swell, shot at the ideal angle. But my monkey brain doesn't consider these factors. It just responds with a potent mix of froth and jealousy. Why am I not getting OR surfing waves that good?

This constant exposure to perfect surfing has other side effects too. I recently heard a pre-internet surfer from South Africa explain how surfing styles have become homogenized. Before we could see what everyone else was doing, surfers developed their own unique approaches, shaped by their personality, their board, and the waves they grew up surfing. Now, we're all exposed to the same ultra-optimized boards and the same approach to waves, shaping us into a product of the digital environment rather than our own physical one.

I'm also subtly influenced by my own surf sessions.

The size of the waves themselves acts as a powerful influence. When it's been ankle-high for a week and a chest-to-head-high swell rolls in, the ocean feels enormous. Paddling into a head-high set triggers a shot of adrenaline. Dropping down the face, I'm at full attention, knees bent, and arms out—looking like a big-wave surfer and, more likely, a giant kook. After a few waves, my comfort returns, and I surf with more cool, calm, and collected confidence. But after a few days of this "fun-sized" surf, a waist-high day that once would have thrilled me now makes me question whether I should even paddle out.

Sharing a session with an exceptional surfer, regardless of the wave quality, also changes my approach. Seeing another surfer do things I didn't think were possible opens up new pathways for my own surfing: deeper takeoffs, navigating a tricky section I thought was un-makeable, or extending a ride further than I would have attempted to take it. These are the kinds of influences I actively seek out and internalize, using them to draw more stoke from each wave I catch.

My awareness of how outside factors shape me hasn't magically given me control over who I am. I'm still heavily influenced. But perhaps the worry is not a sign of a flaw, but a signal to consciously choose which and how much of these I expose myself to. If I am to be a product of my environment, then I must be intentional about that environment. This means limiting my time on social apps, maintaining my disinterest in competitive surfing, and seeking out surfers whose style and attitude I admire.

Maybe I can also find a little solace in knowing that I will inevitably gravitate back toward a baseline of bigger boards, longer lines, and more mellow turns...

It’s not just a practical choice, it’s a conscious one: the waves I surf on a regular basis simply don't support popsicle-stick boards and big top-to-bottom maneuvers. In these conditions, there's more stoke to be had on a fish or a mid-length.... or maybe even... dare I say it... A softop? A SUP? A Foil? Maybe even something weird and new I've never heard of...