The Wave Is Here. How Am I Standing?

Getting back on a kite after brain surgery

Last week the wind howled and the surf stacked into walls of water—triple overhead and roaring. The kind of forecast that used to make my heart sing and my legs twitch with anticipation. But now there’s another soundtrack playing in the background: post-surgery realities, stents in my brain, a doctor who’d prefer I hang up my harness.

Should I go? Shouldn’t I?
That question kept looping like a rip current.

Here’s the truth: kitesurfing isn’t just a hobby for me. It’s a relationship—with Mother Nature, with my own courage, and with my husband, Steve, who’s shared a thousand shorebreak laughs and “did you see that?!” moments with me. It’s where I remember who I am.

I recently read Margie Warrell’s piece, The Wave Is Here. How Are You Standing?—and it hit me straight in the chest. We don’t control the ocean. We choose our stance. We choose when to lean in, when to adjust, and when to bow out. As Margie says, “Security doesn’t come from calmer seas, but from growing your capacity to ride the waves.”

So I asked myself: what stance honors both my love for the sport and my responsibility to my healing body?

Three choices on the beach

1. Freeze—stay home, scroll the forecast, let fear decide.

2. Fight the ocean—charge out like nothing’s changed and pretend I’m invincible.

3. Lean in wisely—respect the conditions, respect my body, and ride with intention.

I chose option three.

Risk never disappears—so manage it

Risk management has always been part of my life on the mountain and in the waves. Now the variables are different: keep my blood pressure down, protect those tiny stents, listen to fatigue, and keep session length tight. My plan:

• Short session, long warm-up. Breathwork on the beach, ease-in tacks, no hero moves.

• Pick my window. Wait for the cleanest sets and the steadiest wind; skip the washing-machine periods.

• Dial the gear conservative. Enough power to plane, not enough to tempt me into ego-driven boosts.

• Hard stop. A timer, not my stoke, determines when to come in.

• Flow over force. If my body whispers “enough,” I listen.

(Quick note: this is my personal approach, not medical advice. If you’re navigating a return to sport after a procedure, co-create your plan with your doctor.)

The ride that mattered

I launched for a short, intentional session. No audience, no pressure, just presence. Steve stroked into a massive face, disappeared in spray, then glanced back to see me carving the set wave behind him—triple overhead, peak curling, a white-water avalanche chasing my tail. For a few electric seconds the world narrowed to edge, kite, breath. Then I kicked out, grinning like a kid, and I came in.

Satisfied. Not wrung out. Powerful by choice, not by chance.
We made a memory instead of me making an excuse.

What I learned on the inside line

• Stance over circumstance. The ocean didn’t change; my approach did.

• Progress beats perfection. A short session with intention > a long session driven by FOMO.

• Identity is a practice. I’m still a rider. My practice now includes patience, breath, and better boundaries.

• Courage has range. Some days it’s charging. Some days it’s choosing a smaller kite, a shorter window, or sitting out a set.

For anyone standing on the sand, wondering

You don’t need the sea to calm. You need a stance that honors your values, your body, and your season. The wave is here—today, not “someday.” How will you stand?

Thank you, Dr. Margie Warrell, for the reminder that “Security doesn’t come from calmer seas, but from growing your capacity to ride the waves.”

I’ll keep choosing presence over pressure, joy over ego, and memories over regrets. Ready. Mindset. Go.

— Jennie “AdrenaJen” Milton