The Wave That Changed Everything

I went to Australia to surf. That's it. No deeper meaning, no spiritual quest, no mid-life crisis. I was 28, I'd just quit my job, and I wanted to spend two months on a beach, catching waves, and not thinking about anything.

I'd been surfing since I was 16, but I'd never been good. Not bad, just... average. I could stand up, I could ride a wave, but I'd never had that moment—you know, the one where everything clicks and you're one with the ocean. I thought Australia would give me that.

I started in Byron Bay, because that's where everyone starts. It's beautiful, it's touristy, it's exactly what you'd expect. I stayed in a hostel, met other surfers, spent my days in the water and my nights at beach bars. It was fun, but it wasn't transformative.

Then I met an old surfer named Dave. He was 65, had been surfing for 50 years, and he had this energy that just radiated calm. We got talking at a beach cafe, and he asked me why I was there. I told him I wanted to get better at surfing, to find that perfect wave.

'You're looking for the wrong thing,' he said. 'The wave isn't the point. The point is you.'

I didn't understand what he meant, not then. But he invited me to come surfing with him the next day, at a spot that wasn't in any guidebook. It was a two-hour drive, then a 30-minute hike, and when we got there, it was just us and the ocean.

We surfed for hours. Not talking, just being. And something happened—I stopped trying to catch the perfect wave. I stopped thinking about technique, about form, about anything. I just was. I was in the water, I was on my board, and I was present.

That's when I caught it. The wave. Not the biggest, not the most perfect, but the one. The one where everything clicked. I rode it all the way to the shore, and when I got out of the water, I was crying. Not sad tears—just... release. Like I'd been holding onto something for years and finally let it go.

Dave was waiting on the beach. He didn't say anything, just smiled. We sat there for an hour, watching the waves, and I realized something: I hadn't come to Australia to surf. I'd come to find myself. I'd come to stop running, to stop trying, to just be.

I spent the next month traveling up the coast. Not to surf better beaches, but to see the country, to meet people, to be present. I stayed in small towns, talked to locals, hiked through national parks. I surfed when I felt like it, but I didn't chase waves anymore.

By the time I left Australia, I was different. Not because I'd become a better surfer—I hadn't, really. But because I'd learned to be present. I'd learned that the journey isn't about the destination, or even the activity. It's about who you become along the way.

I'm back in the real world now. I have a new job, a new apartment, a new life. But every morning, I think about that wave. About Dave. About the moment I realized I was looking for the wrong thing.

The wave isn't the point. The point is you. And sometimes, you have to travel halfway around the world to figure that out.