I almost didn’t go.

The weatherman had called for strong winds out of the south and a potential small craft advisory, which meant the ocean was going to be a sloppy mess. Surfing was going to suck.

But I went anyway. Because communing with nature, which admittedly does sound like some hippie b.s., is a lot better than a cold plunge in a glorified horse trough.

Everybody else must have listened to the weatherman, because the beach was empty.

But the conditions were perfect.

Light offshore wind, peaky waves, warm water.

And no one out.

I surfed by myself for over an hour. Plenty of time to realize that most of the not-great decisions I’ve made in my life have been based on someone else’s idea of the truth. Weather forecasts, in all sorts of different forms…secondhand information, hinged on models. Or narratives. Or advertising. Or bias.

Exhausted, I paddled for my last wave and wondered what would happen today if I kept this up, and lived only according to what I’ve discovered through my own experience?

No one else would be telling me what is true.

Bobby Dylan said it best.

Don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. 

And how often is the weatherman really right, anyway?