Your alarm wakes you at 5 am. Unlike going to work, you don’t hit snooze. You like the reason for the early hour.

You pound caffeine to wake you up for the drive, so much of the instant coffee that it gives you the jitters. It's an hour drive and you race like a madman to beat the sun. The first on the lineup gets their pick of the waves, a truly coveted position.

The drive is dark and there’s no one else on the road. You cross state lines and slow the corners, scanning ahead to avoid the police speed traps. You are an invader from a foreign land, a Masshole, and the locals here are hostile to your kind. 

The sky is an artist’s palette of reds, oranges, and yellows when you park in the empty beachside lot. The light bounces off the sand as the tide ebbs and flows, the ground frozen solid. The air is less than ten degrees Fahrenheit, New Year's Day, 2023. You slowly pull the thick wetsuit on, fighting it to fit to your body. This layer is the only thing preventing your quick death by hypothermia once you’re in the water.

Winter surfing in the northeast is a completely different animal from what it is in the warmer months. In the summer, surfers plague this lineup, mostly tourists. With the limited surf breaks in the area, there are few days of the week when hundreds aren’t out on the water. The tourists and locals clash, everyone competing for the same waves which are few and far between.

Winter is the polar opposite. Cruel storms churn the water, forming waves often over ten feet high, pounding the shoreline. The average is usually between 3 to 6 feet, perfect conditions. On this fine winter day, the water is below freezing, and all the tourist clowns have disappeared. Now, anyone you meet on the water is serious; there is a mutual respect. You are aware that you’re both dedicated and wild enough in the soul to paddle out and try to ride. Take too many spills or stay in the water too long and hypothermia will get you.

Not sure if you believe in God? Look down the barrel of a six-foot wave about to crash on your head and see how long it takes you to start praying.

Jump on your board, paddle out. It is 8 degrees Fahrenheit above water and your mustache is frozen. You spring onto your board to catch a wave and slide right off, the surface frozen like a hockey rink. This is surfing not for the faint of heart.

When you’re there, alone, there is no one to help you. Your focus is keen, and at least from my experience, the little wandering your mind is able to do becomes sharply philosophical. You become truly present, and the action you partake in etches lessons on your mind like a stone tablet. 

Only a foolish surfer believes he can catch every wave.

Some days on the water are great, some suck, but they’re better than not being on the water at all.

Not every wave is as great as you thought it’d be.

I could go on. The parallels between life and surfing are endless, and it's little wonder why it’s held sacred by different cultures around the world. My mind ponders these as I sit in water cold enough to kill me.

One thought stands out above the rest:

Everything worth living for stands on the other side of comfort.

Take it for what you will. May mean nothing, may mean everything. To me, it means I could stay home and be safe and lazy in bed. I could do the normal life things and try to be satisfied. Never risking my life for a life everyone else chooses to live.

Or, I could push the envelope. I can exceed what is rational, what is safe, what is routine. I can find my limits and expand beyond what I thought them to be. I can see just how far my body and spirit can go before they stop me.

How valuable is this knowledge of yourself? How well do you actually know who you are? What you’re capable of?

I challenge you. Paddle out in the winter or whatever your equivalent is, and find out. See what lessons your mind gives you when you become present.

Like me, you might just find the best surf is when no one else is crazy enough to go. When the beach is shut down, the lifeguard is gone, and you have to fight everything your body is telling you to not get out of the water.

This may be when you find your real potential. This may be when you find out what you’re made of. Out there, on the water. Alone.

Take it for what you will. May mean nothing, may mean everything.

The greatness you could have is there, somewhere on the other side of comfort.

The waves will be out there whether you ride them or not.

That is the wisdom of the wave.

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