The risks and benefits of not surfing when there are good waves

No, I haven't been surfing. I have a final final FINAL (no, really) deadline to meet on my book and I pride myself on never missing a deadline. Lots of people have already bought it, it has to get done!

But I looked out my window on Monday, September 29th, and saw a rare sight. Perfect waves, not too big, optimal tide, north wind, sunshine and warm temperatures. (Of course, lots of people in the water.) I was not unaware that these are the days surfers live for. I was not unaware of how rare they are.

And yet.

I hesitated.

I had a looming deadline, and I had just taken the weekend off (well, two days that turned into four), and spent it having more fun than I had previously thought humanly possible. I was feeling a little guilty about that.

The work I had to do on the book, I hadn't done before and couldn't be sure of how long it would take.

I thought of going out surfing, but I didn't.

When I meet my maker (or whatever the hell happens after you die, if anything), it's now clear that my tally of regrets in life will include not surfing on September 29, 2008.

And yet at the time, it seemed a perfectly reasonable choice.

Only time can tell if it was correct. If I meet my deadline with two hours to spare, then I'll know I could have gone.

Sometimes, the choice not to go can be wrong; but other times, it can be right, even if you miss out on really good waves.

Consider January 12, 2008.

If you look back in these archives, you will see I went out surfing that day and had a really good time. That was a day when I had planned to go to an event in Manhattan instead of surfing. I was also on a deadline (same book, different deadline), and was kind of unsure whether I could afford the time, but was leaning towards going because it looked to be a very worthwhile event. I could afford the time to go to the city, or go surfing, but probably not both.

When I woke up that day and there were waves, I went in the water.

Even so, I maybe still could have made it into the city. But then a friend called and we talked for a while, then I got hungry and had to get food, and after that it seemed too late to go.

It's ten months later, and I still remember that afternoon. I haven't been able to forget a single detail.

There was this inner voice saying to me: Go. There is someone there who you were meant to meet.

I didn't know who it was. I just knew there was someone. And I couldn't shake that conviction.

There are so many times in life I've had this feeling, of knowing something that rationally, objectively, I couldn't possibly know, that I think I have some kind of psychic ability. And when I have this feeling, I'm always right.

As I was this time.

I even looked at photos of the event later, trying to figure out who it was I was supposed to meet.

By an incredible twist of fate, I now know, because I recently met this person in another context. How lucky is that?

I was right.

I wasn't meant to go surfing that day.

Sometimes, no matter how good the waves are, there are more important things than surfing.