How a Surf Session Changed My Perspective on Ambition.
The story of a Postgraduate in a Post-Covid World.
The Uni of Leeds campus life. The business school. The Leeds music festival. Most of all, real independence from my Italian cradle. Before even starting, I had my eyes full of the upcoming months. Beyond financial autonomy, I was glad to reach personal independence from my usual routines. I had already escaped the narrative of getting out of my comfort zone. It just didn’t work for me: I was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just stuck.
That trip across the Channel was a shortcut on the way to maturity. Once arrived in Leeds — I said — I’ll catch some experiences here and there, and eventually roll them out of my suitcase in one solid block, when back in Italy. Traveling makes us feel so good for a simple reason. By witnessing new things, we can evolve our perspective on the ones we already know. That makes us grow a little bit.
Then Covid came. Airports, suitcases, and music festivals remained empty for a while. I attended classes from my seaside village, slowly becoming allergic to its beautiful mellow rhythms. This time, I’ll admit it, I felt uncomfortable. But I was sharing that situation with millions of students around the world! In a way, I thought I wasn’t entitled to take it that personally. And I didn’t.
A year later, I got my Master of Science in Management. That day, I had no melancholy whatsoever about the things I left behind, and I was sleepy as hell. After spending one year in front of a monitor, the main feeling was not pride but joyous relief. That sensation of knowing you could easily screw it all up and didn’t. Once again, I was preparing for something better…
4 months and countless job applications later, I had nothing on my hands other than frustration. This time, amid a global recession, I might have been even less entitled to take it personally. But I did. I started to notice expectations growing around me, blurring up my vision. My curiosity to go abroad and return wiser was subtly transforming into an urgent need to escape that situation.
To my rescue came one of the most Californian Italian summers ever. In order to save a little stash and avoid sun-drying like a tomato (if you never tried them on pizza, you should), I started waiting tables at a seaside restaurant in my hometown. During one of my first sunset shifts, I took a sneak peek at the sea and noticed some surfers getting out of the water, holding beautiful boards at their sides. The following day, I rented one and moved my first goofy steps on it.
Surf is a unique sport. It can build a sense of community like nothing else. Some might say it can be introspective too. You get their point while you ride a wave, not hearing any sound but the water sliding underneath your feet. It is so calm and cool, as it strikes you with a single shot of adrenaline.
With a used white surfboard at my side, that summer flew away in a second. I got unsaddled by a wave a lot of times. If you never went through a “wipe-out”, it feels like entering a fast spin dryer with a ton of foam involved. I rasped out a lot of wax with the sea in the background, which is more like changing the strings on a guitar while listening to your favorite record.
The point is, from the moment I stepped into that surfboard, my life out of the water started to evolve at cascade. I learned the basics of action photography. Started trying other cool sports like mountain-bike and hiking, other than my usual tennis and running. Looked back at my computer as an opportunity to produce written content other than cover letters (of which I still have a huuuge archive!). Suddenly, that screen did not remind me of lost opportunities but instead made me focus on future ones.
My ambition to find a fulfilling job was not gone, but it was way lighter to carry and easier to direct. It was stronger. Surf brought curiosity back into my daily life so that I could manage my objectives in a more mature way. Thanks to my Italian summer, I finally understood that to be curious is to be ambitious.
