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This past weekend I went surfing on Vancouver Island. Actually, it is probably more accurate to say that I tried to surf. I spent most of the time getting tossed around the waves like a rag doll.

Surfing is a humbling sport. It reminds me of how small I am, and how powerful Mother Nature is. I get the same reminder every time I climb a mountain or scale a rock face, but there’s nothing that can drill this fact home better than trying to dive under a 20 foot wave and instead getting thrown in the air and dragged halfway to shore underwater.

And yet, surfing is so elegant and so powerful when done correctly. It is the thrill of carving smoothly on a wild swell of water. It is the ability to say, “I harnessed Mother Nature’s power.”

I am not at this point just yet. I am still at the point where Mother Nature picks me up, throws me back down, and laughs while saying, “I own you.”