Dreaming of Surf

I wish I could dream about surfing.

I daydream about it. I mind surf waves at the beach, in videos, and on the cams. I think about it as I fall asleep and as I wake up. It’s usually the reason I get out of bed, the cornerstone around which the rest of my day is planned. But I never dream about it.

My dad does. He’s told me about his dreams, hinting that surfing in them is just as good, if not better, than the real thing. He's even mentioned that he dreams of surfing nightly. Because I can't relate, I get a strange feeling he's lying. He knows I want him to surf more—to stay in shape and live longer. He knows he's always happy he paddled out, even when he was questioning it beforehand.

When he tells me, I feel a flush of warmth through my body, a mounting pressure in my head I call frustration. Although I can't see it, I know my face flushes a little as my muscles tense, as if I'm ready to physically confront him. Luckily, we're on the phone, and he can't see the change in my physiology.

I’m frustrated because I’m jealous. If I could get a few more sessions in while I slept—sessions where I could do things I can't in real life, or surf breaks I’ve never been to, or even break the laws of physics—I could wake up stoked every morning. Maybe I’d be even more motivated to get in better surf shape or paddle out earlier. I'm frustrated because I don't know how to react. Is he lying? There's no way he dreams about surfing every night. Should I call him out? Or is he just trying to make up excuses for not surfing recently, even when the conditions were perfect for him? The frustration comes from a series of questions I can't answer and a lack of guts—or a pride too strong—to ask my dad to set the record straight.

Maybe my dad's dreams are so good he doesn't feel the need to surf when he wakes up. That's the underlying implication I takeaway from his comment about his dreams when I ask if he's surfed recently. It’s a thought that unsettles me. If I could be satisfied with surfing only in my dreams, I’d save a lot of time and energy. All the hours spent checking forecasts, traveling to breaks, preparing my gear, and worrying about whether I chose the right spot would vanish. If dreams are better than reality, maybe I've had it all wrong this whole time.

I could be a dream-surfer. With enough practice from a meditation guru or just the right micro-dose before bed and a little priming of my mind I could enjoy a nightly surf session as I doze off. But this thought quickly veers into strange waters. If dreaming is better than the real thing, I might as well give up everything, plug myself into a virtual reality, and live in digital utopia. Is this the world Zuckerberg is building with the Metaverse?

The meta surf world is intriguing. In this dreamland, I could magically transport to any break, make the crowds disappear, add in my favorite surf buds, and give myself a higher level of surfing ability. The paddle out would be easy or even nonexistent—I'd just reappear at the top of the lineup like Mario going through one of those green tubes. Dream logic would allow me to do wacky things, like calling the jetski for the paddle back out after a triple barrel but being picked up by the beam of a flying saucer instead. Inside the silver disk, a roundtable of the greatest surfers like Duke Kahanamoku, Kelly Slater, and Gerry Lopez would be drinking the elixir of life from tiny ceramic cups, all conferring that I'm a great surfer. My last wave was all tens across the board. A young Rob Machado, with his bushy afro, would turn to me and say, "You've got great style, dude!" Then, with my board still under my arm, I would jump on one of those yellow inflatable slides from an airplane, one I’ve always hoped to slide down but never have to, that would take me right back to the top of the lineup.

But what would be left to accomplish after a dream like that? What’s the point of forcing myself up and starting the day if I’ve already achieved everything? In this dream utopia, there would be no need to worry about everyday things like what to have for lunch or where to take a dump in the morning.

Is that utopia?

Maybe it's possible that I dream about surfing, but simply don't remember it. Perhaps I'm having amazing dreams every night, and that's the source of my inner, subconscious motivation.

But as far as my conscious brain can tell, I don't dream. So I'm up early, checking the waves and comparing it to the forecast, adjusting my calculations of where to go. I turn my wetsuit right side in, second-guess which board to ride, and remind myself to hydrate before leaving the house. I shuffle around a bit, delaying the inevetible - my entry into the cold water and an uncomfortable paddle out to the lineup. In the real world there's no stoke without earning it.

Perhaps that's the whole point. Maybe that's what actually frustrates me - why doesn't Dad, in all his wisdom of 70+ years of life, know this yet? I better get back home soon and encourage him to suit up and paddle out with me.