Localism, the Lineup, and Learning When to Let Go

I’ve been surfing for over 20 years. I know the rules, the rhythm of a good lineup, and how to show up with respect. I’m not new. I’m not reckless. And yet, when I moved from San Diego to Santa Cruz, I was hit with something I hadn’t felt so intensely before: localism.

Not the casual “locals first” kind. I’m talking about leash-pulling, verbal aggression, cold stares, and a level of exclusion that made me question what I was even doing out there. One man—probably in his 60s—pulled my leash as I was paddling into a wave. At another spot, I was yelled at and dropped in on by a woman who admitted she didn’t see me… but still blamed me. The most intense spot I visited had a tightly held pecking order, where a small group of people seemed to decide who deserved to catch a wave at all.

And if they didn’t know you? You weren’t getting one. 

I’ve surfed places where the aggression isn’t labeled “localism,” but the vibe is the same: backpaddling, scowling, posturing, even calling me names. There was also the fact that I'm a woman. I know half my experiences would never happen if I were a man. And for a while, I thought the only way to handle it was to fight back. 

I didn’t want to be silenced. I didn’t want to be made to feel small.
So I stood up for myself. I argued. I called people out. I refused to let anyone get away with trying to push me out of the water. And the more I did it, the more it kept happening.

Until one day I drove home from a session—again—feeling upset. And I asked myself:
Is this even fun anymore?

The ocean is supposed to heal me. Why am I always leaving it more tense than when I arrived?

So I tried something else. I started a quiet experiment with myself.

What if I stop engaging with the aggression completely?
What if I don’t respond? What if I stop telling the stories afterward, stop giving my energy to the conflict, stop reinforcing the idea that surfing is a battleground?

And instead—what if I amplify the good?
What if I give waves when I can, compliment a nice ride, say hello, make space? Give my attention to that vibe. Assume the best out of everyone out there?

It wasn’t about being passive. It was about choosing where to place my energy—and where not to.
Because what we feed grows, we get more of what we pay attention to. Life's algorithm is like social media. If you click on something or pay attention to something, you'll get more of that type of content. Well, it's the same thing in life. So I decided to change the type of content I getting.  

And slowly, something started to shift.
People began thanking me in the parking lot for the waves I had given them.
I drove home smiling.
The ocean felt like a gift again.

So when I moved to Santa Cruz and met a deeper version of localism—one that felt impenetrable and organized—I recognized the feeling. The tension. The fight rising in my throat.

And this time, I chose differently.
I let them win. I stopped surfing that spot when the group is there—even when it’s really good. And instead, I paddled out at the next break over.

And it turns out? It’s fantastic.
The vibe is different. The waves are still good. I’m having fun again.
I just needed to adjust a few things.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is let go of the fight and follow the joy.

And for all the times I was targeted for just being a woman? Not every space honors the feminine yet—and that’s okay. We’re rising anyway.