Riding the Edge: A Journey of Fear, Surf, and Self-Discovery

The ocean scared me—not the waves or the creatures, but the idea of letting go. Yet here I was, standing on the edge of the sand, a board under my arm and every excuse whispering in my ear to turn back.

The sun was just beginning to rise, painting streaks of pink and orange across the horizon. The surf looked deceptively gentle, rolling in rhythmic swells that broke into soft white foam. My dad’s old board felt heavy against my side, even though I’d carried it a hundred times before. This wasn’t the first time I’d thought about surfing, but it was the first time I’d made it this far—to the shoreline, to the moment where I couldn’t hide behind my fears anymore.

“Are you just going to stand there?” My sister’s voice cut through the quiet. Jessie had been surfing since she was ten, her confidence on the water a sharp contrast to my hesitation. She stood a few feet ahead, already waist-deep in the waves, her board floating beside her. “The water’s not going to bite, Leah. Come on!”

I swallowed hard and stepped forward, the cool water swirling around my ankles. Jessie’s grin was equal parts encouragement and challenge. She didn’t understand—how could she? For her, the ocean was freedom, a playground of endless possibilities. For me, it was a mirror, reflecting every fear I’d tried to bury. I wasn’t like Jessie. I wasn’t fearless.

But I was tired of being afraid.

I took another step, the water rising to my knees, then my thighs. The board bobbed awkwardly beside me, and I clung to it like a lifeline. Jessie’s laughter floated over the sound of the waves as she paddled out, disappearing over the crest of a swell. I hesitated, watching her go. The pull of the tide tugged at my feet, a gentle nudge forward.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” my dad had said the first time he tried to teach me. “You just have to start.”

The memory was a spark, small but enough to push me forward. I lay down on the board, my movements clumsy and unsteady, and began to paddle. The water was cold against my skin, the salt stinging my eyes as I fought to find a rhythm. Each stroke took me farther from the shore, closer to where the waves formed and broke. Jessie was waiting just beyond the break, her face alight with pride as she watched me struggle toward her.

“That’s it!” she called as I reached her side, breathless and trembling. “You’re doing it!”

I wasn’t sure if “doing it” was the right phrase. My arms felt like jelly, and the board wobbled precariously beneath me. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of something that wasn’t fear. It was small, tentative, but it was there—a spark of determination.

Jessie pointed to the horizon, where a new set of waves was building. “You’re going to catch the next one. Just follow me, okay?”

“What if I fall?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Jessie’s smile softened. “Then you get back on the board. Falling’s part of it, Leah. That’s how you learn.”

I nodded, my heart pounding as I turned to face the oncoming wave. Jessie paddled forward, her movements fluid and sure, and I tried to mimic her. The wave rose behind us, a wall of water that seemed impossibly large. My breath caught as I felt its power lift the board, propelling me forward.

“Now!” Jessie’s voice rang out. “Stand up!”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed myself up, my legs shaky and unsteady. For a brief, glorious moment, I was standing. The wind whipped through my hair, the ocean roared beneath me, and I felt… free. Completely, utterly free.

And then I fell.

The water swallowed me whole, tumbling me like a rag doll beneath the surface. Panic flared, but I remembered Jessie’s words: Falling’s part of it. I fought my way to the surface, gasping for air as the board bobbed nearby. Jessie’s laughter was the first thing I heard, followed by her voice.

“You did it!”

“I fell,” I sputtered, wiping the saltwater from my eyes.

“Yeah, but you stood up first.” Jessie paddled over, her grin contagious. “And you’ll stand up again. Come on, let’s go.”

I hesitated, looking back toward the shore. The beach seemed impossibly far away, a distant line of safety I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach again. But when I turned back to Jessie, her confidence gave me strength.

I climbed back onto the board, the fear still there but quieter now, overshadowed by something new. Determination. Hope. A tiny piece of courage.

The ocean didn’t scare me as much anymore. It still held its mysteries, its dangers, but it also held possibilities. I wasn’t fearless. But I didn’t need to be.

I just had to start.