Surfing is imperfect, rough, extreme.

Surfing is passionate, loving, spontaneous, emotional.

Most of all... surfing is independence.

The iridescent sunlight, encaptured by the occasional curl of a wave, provides warmth to the surface of the cold pacific. Sitting perched upon my light blue, glossy long-board, I blissfully yearn and hope to spot the next ride. It is mid-August, the peak of summer in New England, and I've been in the water since 9 a.m. My fingers and toes are mere representations of raisins and my eyes are completely sunken in from the lack of hydration. I have a pounding headache and my ankle hurts from when I fell on it earlier this morning. Looking at further consequences, I resolve to catch the next wave and head back to land, for any more time spent in the water will likely result in me fainting.

Five minutes, then ten: the amount of time I spend in search for the "next wave" before my break. Unfortunately, I am stubborn and not willing to settle for an okay ride. I want the best, most thrilling wave ever, and I refuse to head back until I do. Finally, the bitter sensation from the cold water nipping at my feet stops as I turn my board towards shore and place my legs on the board. I paddle just enough times to catch up with this monstrous wave as it starts to form. Finally, the board is pushed, my arms push up, followed by my legs popping up...and success! I surf back to shore only to turn right back around into the oncoming waves. My body is sore and I am tired but I can't miss out on the surf that has picked up. So I hurriedly paddle out to the commotion and attempt to catch another wave. I paddle and repeat the same process as before, but the nose of my board dips into the water which allows the water to push the back of the board upwards. I fall off my board and stumble violently into the ocean, drowned temporarily by the wave. This vivid ordeal lasts only ten seconds, but yet again, I bounce right back, eager to try once more.

Locals and other bystanders watch and ponder why I go back since I cut my foot on a rock and hurt my knee while under. What they see is surfing at its worst. They see impurities, imperfections and strife. Whereas I see a challenge. In fact, I see a profound message in the very sport that drives me. That being said, surfing is addictive. It is not just some hobby or under-glorified sport. Those that surf understand it takes a lot of passion and love to go out there and brave the struggles that come with it. They understand the freedom allotted during each session. And of course, they feel the independence that comes with catching each wave.

Consequently, surfing is freedom. It is the ability to leave any state of mentality and solely focus on the ocean. The sport is just for the individual, with no distractions or influences other than the water. I surf because I absolutely adore it. I crave every chance I can get riding atop the ferocious water, with an unpredictable outcome. I live for the moment I get to slide onto that board and face the upcoming surf. I love the passion and emotion that emanates from the whole experience. In the end, surfing is all about love, and most certainly all about independence.