Skateboarding and Writing

Not so different after all

Yours truly, performing what is known as a “Hippie Jump” a few years back. Photo by Matthew Quijano

On the surface it doesn’t seem like skateboarding and writing have much in common. One seems physical, the other mental. One seems dangerous, the other safe. One seems to place you in the world, the other seems to place you behind a desk. But if we only take a surface level look at these two supposedly disparate pursuits, then we’d be missing the deeper thing that connects them: the way these pursuits afford us the ability to engage in the things we value.

Have you ever wondered why you’re drawn to your chosen pursuit? Whether it’s writing, skating, painting, surfing, music, martial arts, puzzles, or something else – what is it about your thing that calls to you? Is it simply about engaging in the act? Or is it something deeper? My 20+ year obsession with skateboarding has left me grappling with this question. And as it so happens it was only once I stepped outside of my single-minded obsession with skateboarding and began writing that I started to clearly see what I value about pushing around that plank. Because as it turns out so much of what I value about skateboarding is also present in pushing around that pen…   

Letting Go

When I set myself the task of trying to capture all the different things I value about writing and skating I quickly realised I had set myself up for failure – as there is simply too much to cover.

“Well…” I thought… “Why not turn this problem into an example of the first thing I value about these pursuits? Damnit, Michael, that’s crazy enough it just might work…” (yes, sometimes I refer to myself in the third person).

If skating and writing have taught me anything it’s to let go of trying to make things perfect. To let go of trying to ‘nail it’ every time. To let go of trying to cover all my bases. And to just accept the fact that I can’t do all the tricks, I can’t write all the stories, and I certainly can’t do all of it perfectly, all of the time. It’s impossible. But that’s not a bad thing. Instead, I find it liberating. Because if there is no way I can skate all the spots, write all the ideas, or capture everything I want to say in this piece, then that releases me from being weighed down by such unreasonable expectations and it allows me to just have a go anyway. It free’s me from the crazy notion of ‘doing it all, perfectly’ and allows me to just ‘do some stuff, my way’. And so, without further ado here is the rest of my terribly imperfect list…

Creative Acts

I’ve always been full of ideas – some good, some bad, some dismal, some devious. And I’ve always gotten incredibly excited by ideas when they strike. However, one of the problems this ‘ideas-man’ often runs into is that he lacks the means to get his ideas off the ground. This is one of the things I appreciate about writing and skating: they are mediums in which I can actually bring my ideas to life.          

It seems rather obvious how us writers bring our amorphous ideas to life – I mean, you’re reading a concrete example of it right now. But in case you want me to spell it out for you: we sit down and turn ourselves inside out trying our darndest to tap away at the keyboard or scratch away with the pen until we’ve transmuted the madness in our minds into what is sometimes called – writing. Skateboarding is no different. There are always a bunch of trick ideas swirling around in my head. So, when it comes time to bring one of these ideas to life, I engage in the same process: I grab my board and turn myself inside out trying my darndest to maneuver my body in such a way that it corresponds to the tricks that seemed so plausible in my imagination, which when done correctly is sometimes called – skateboarding.

Alas, as an avid practitioner of these creative acts, I am all too aware that sometimes “my darnedest” just isn’t enough, which means I am often left suffering the divide between my visions and reality. Other times something unexpected arises out of my feeble attempts and I follow that wherever it leads. And sometimes, somehow, despite all the madness and my gargantuan ineptitude – the stars align. But what I love about these creative acts is that win, lose, or draw it’s not so much about the scoreboard as it is about enjoying the game. It’s about the joy of being lost in the creative process. It’s about the pleasure of being bestowed some intangible gift from The Muse. It’s about the excitement of finding a way to bring this gift into the realm of reality. It’s about the satisfaction of honouring the gift you were given by sharing a finished product with others. And it’s about being lucky enough to partake in this fundamental human experience – the act of creation.

Endless

I could go into a long explanation about how all the flips, spins, grinds, slides, grabs, manuals, and airs us skaters perform can be combined in countless ways; and how this plethora of combinations can be taken to the untold amount of skate-able terrain that exists; and how as skaters continue to come up with new combinations and uncover new terrain skateboarding’s endless possibilities continue to grow (yes, I just said that endless things can grow – the physicists reckon the universe is still expanding and that’s apparently endless, so go figure)… Or I could just put it like this: the endless amount of stuff a skater can do once they have honed the basics of riding their shred-sled, is equal to the endless amount of stuff a writer can say once they have a basic grasp of their native language. From there, the interesting thing is exploring the endlessness of these pursuits. 

Things that cannot be completed are special. Beyond the fact that there’s always something new to explore, which feeds curiosity. Beyond the fact that there’s always room to improve, which fosters growth. And beyond the fact that progressing within a pursuit that has no end teaches you to draw satisfaction from the process not the result. There is also this wonderful little nugget: Endless pursuits mirror us.

The more we explore these pursuits the more we learn about them, and the more we learn about them the more we learn about ourselves, and the more we learn about ourselves the more we grow, and (ready here’s the cool bit) the more we grow the more these pursuits expand to match our newfound depth. In other words, endless pursuits are reciprocally expansive – they grow as we grow. Because as we grow, we become better at exploring them, which enables us to reach previously uncharted territory within them, and then, within ourselves. And this process just continues to unfold – unendingly.

And the fun doesn’t end there either… By its very definition ‘endlessness’ means I can take these pursuits in any direction – which turns it back on me. It comes back to me to follow my curiosity wherever it leads. And it comes back to me to draw inspiration from my experiences, my environment, and my temperament. Which is freaking awesome as it ensures that every experience I have, and every wondering that pops into my head, can be fed back into my exploration of these pursuits in a way that helps me further unravel the mystery and wonder that is waiting behind every turn.

Fear

I’ve always been a big scaredy-cat. I still remember the Lion King night light my parents would put on every night before I went to sleep. I remember playing football as a kid and being both terrified of getting hurt and also dumbfounded that the other kids didn’t seem to share my concerns. I remember going snorkeling with my dad and running on water back to the boat when we saw a stingray. I could go on – but the point is, I have never been the best at facing my fears. So why then, would I choose to engage in two pursuits that ask us to face our fears at every turn? Well, I’m glad you asked…

As much as I hate the feeling in the pit of my stomach in the moments just before I take the leap – I also love it. I love how it hurls me into the moment. I love how it makes my eyes widen, my sphincter tighten, and the hairs on my neck stand on end. Put simply, I love how fear makes me feel alive. But it’s not just what I love about fear – it’s also what I hate about it… I despise the feeling of knowing I could’ve done the thing I wanted to do on my board or with my writing, but I didn’t. I loathe how I feel when I let that happen. It’s not just that I regret it, but more so that I feel shame about it. I feel like I’m holding myself back from becoming who I want to be. But there is a value to this feeling, not only does it motivate me to be brave, it also adds to the gratification I feel whenever I do face my fears and pull in the direction of the person I want to be. See, for me, sometimes it doesn’t even matter if I actually land the trick or nail the piece of writing – sometimes just knowing that I went for it is enough. That helps this big scaredy cat sleep soundly (even without his night light). 

Individuality

In skateboarding it’s called style. In writing it’s called voice. Both speak to the same thing: no two people do it the same way. There is an essence that shines through in the way that someone rides their skateboard or crafts their writing. Through the distinct way a person does their thing we get a glimpse at a deeper part of who they are. And since writing and skating are self-expressive pursuits, they have this special way of helping people find, explore, and express that unique part of themselves. In other words, these pursuits are incubators for individuality.

I first noticed this in skating. I started to see how this thing already within me was making itself manifest through the tricks I wanted to do, the spots I was drawn to skate, and the influences I was inspired by. And the more I ventured down skateboarding’s endless rabbit hole the more I saw how this thing was informing the distinct way I rode my skateboard. And the more I watched this play out over the years the more I started to realise that not only was skating enabling me to connect to and explore this unique thing within, but at the same time it was also empowering me to express it through how I rode my board.

And since I had already become privy to this process thanks to skateboarding – when the exact same process started to happen with writing, I was able to really watch myself find, explore, and express my individual voice. I was able to see how that unique thing within was informing the ideas I wanted to write, the influences I was inspired by, and the way I wanted to structure and present my ideas. And this process is still unfolding, in fact, I don’t think it will ever stop. I think I will just keep delving deeper into this exploration of my individuality through my engagement with these pursuits.

Beyond how amazing that is in and of itself – what I really appreciate about this process is that it has helped me understand myself better. It has helped me become more aware of who I am and who I want to be. It has helped me appreciate the things that make me different. And it has helped me overcome an issue that plagued me when I was younger: the need to fit in everywhere and be understood by everyone. In this way, writing and skating have helped me find my self and accept what I found. 

Perspective & Attention

Writing and skating have become lenses through which I see and understand the world…

Let’s start with skating. As any skater will happily tell you, us skaters don’t see benches as something to sit on, stairs as something to walk down, or handrails as something to hold onto – we see spots to skate. Skateboarding has changed my perspective at such a fundamental level that I quite literally see the whole world as one big skatepark. Everywhere I go I am constantly thinking: “can I grind that?”; “can I roll in on that?”; “those curbs look good”; “I bet this ground would work for 360s”; “so and so skated that in the Momentum video” and so on, ad nauseum. And this change in perspective doesn’t just mean I see the world differently: it also means I understand it differently. Through this new lens I can redefine what a bench can be. Instead of being nothing more than a seat – by way of my board, a bench can now be a plaything. It can be something my friends and I can have fun on, something we can use to challenge ourselves, and something we can use to actively interact with the architecture of our city. In this way, this shift in perspective enables me to see a deeper layer of potential in the world.

Writing affords the same sort of perspective shift. Before I started writing the way a little old lady shuffled to her letter box, the way a cleaner pushed her cart through a sea of people in a food court, or the way a duck dived into a lake – meant nothing to me. They were just random occurrences that I took no notice of. But writing has given me a way to see more deeply into these random occurrences. It has given me a medium through which to reframe, make sense of, and draw meaning out of these seemingly meaningless moments. This has led me to do much more watching. Because through the lens of writing, everything – every event, every smile, every flap of a bird’s wings, every street sign, every sensation; literally everything – has the potential to become a deep rabbit hole for me to explore and draw meaning from. Not only that but writing has also allowed me to reframe my past experiences into stories that can be funny, cathartic, self-exploratory, or even revelatory. In this way, writing has afforded me a new way to interpret and understand my experiences, the world, and myself.

If I had to sum it up, I’d say this: writing and skating have shifted my perspective from looking at the world, to looking into the world. They have made me pay more attention to all the potential and all the beauty I once overlooked. And they’ve increased the degree to which I am driven to go to new places, try new things, and have new experiences – because thanks to these new ways of seeing, there is so much I’m excited to lay my eyes upon.

Solo & Collaborative 

Skating and writing offer the best of both worlds in that they allow us to traverse between the solo and collaborative dimensions of the creative act.

Let’s start with writing this time. I love that I can lock myself in my room and lose track of time, space, and myself without any concern of how it may be affecting someone else. I find it somehow therapeutic to go on this solo journey where everything just melts away as I get engrossed in following the thread of some idea. There is a present moment peace that washes over me as I engage in this process. Some would probably call this the flow state. Call it what you will, all I know is it is easiest to access this state alone. But then there is the other side of the coin… Because I also deeply value emerging from my cave and sharing what I’ve created with others. I like having fellow writers point out my blind spots. I like hearing how something I wrote resonated with someone. I like getting lost in conversation with another writer about our personal process or about some project we are working on together. And I like that sharing writing with others helps me feel connected to people.

As I’ve gotten older skating alone has become more important to me. These days it’s not just about going and having fun on my board or challenging myself as I struggle to learn some new trick – I now draw a sense of peace from it. Hell, I would even go so far as to say it feels spiritual. It is rejuvenating and meditative in a way that somehow nourishes my soul. Going on a solo adventure with nothing but my board connects me to the 12-year-old within who used to play on his board at the end of the street after school. And that is something I can only tap into when I skate alone. But on the flip side… I love the camaraderie of venturing into the streets with the homies as all of us battle our tricks. I get just as stoked when my friends land their tricks as when I land mine. It is also hugely rewarding to work on homie videos with my friends. The process of stacking clips, arranging those clips in the editing room, and then all of us coming together on premiere night to celebrate all the time we spent together and all the effort we put in to bringing the video to life – is, for me, still one of the most fulfilling parts of skateboarding.

My point: I’m greedy, because I can’t imagine engaging in pursuits that didn’t offer both sides of this coin.

Humility 

Try as I might – and believe me I’ve been trying – I cannot find a clear path through the jungle that are these pursuits. Anytime I think I’ve found a way to proceed, gotten a glimpse at a pattern, or come to some sort of ‘certainty’ about ‘the rules’ of writing and skating – the rug (and quite literally the skateboard) gets ripped out from under me. The only thing I’ve chanced upon that even resembles a rule in all my years of hacking through these impenetrable forests would read something like this: just because something worked last time that doesn’t mean it’s going to work this time… but then again, it might… so good luck with that.    

And (to completely mix metaphors) it’s not just that whenever I step on my board or sit down to write I’m forced to read the ever-changing winds of these pursuits – it’s also that whenever I misread the wind these pursuits drop me on my ass.

I have long since thought of skateboarding as a sort of second gravity because nothing has ever brought me back down to earth as quickly or as often as that merciless plank. Resigning yourself to skateboarding is like signing up for a humble-pie eating contest – it is just fall, after fall, after fall, after fall, after fall, after fall… to be accurate I should keep going for about ten more pages, but I think you get it. But the benefit of all this falling is that any arrogance or delusions of grandeur you may have harbored gets knocked out of you and dragged along the pavement until every last morsel has been ground down to nothing. And while I haven’t been writing for as long, boy, is the pen snapping at the boards heels when it comes to knocking me down a peg. I mean, goddamn, how many times can one man write something that just doesn’t work? And even though that’s a question only my laptop’s recycling bin can answer, writing seems hellbent on making me understand that the answer is: almost as many times as you try muda-fucker.

And yes, the super positive amongst us would probably say, “well, the value of all that failure and uncertainty is that you get the opportunity to rise, reassess, and try again” and although that may be true (and ohh-so-cute), I don’t think that’s as valuable as all the humility these pursuits engender.

Flow

When I get into the flow of writing and skating it doesn’t feel like I’m thinking. I’m not thinking of what movements I need to do to enact the trick – I just do the trick. I’m not thinking of what words come next in the sentence – I just write the sentence. It’s almost as if the words and the movements come through me from somewhere else. As if they are happening of their own volition. As if I’ve gotten out of the way and something much more confident has taken the reins.

It’s quite an amazing feeling.

Not only does it hurl me into the present moment in a way that dissolves all my worries – which is a blessing in and of itself. But it also feels like I’m communing with something outside of myself. It feels like I’m tapping into the frequency of The Muse. And call me crazy, but it feels like The Muse wants me to bring whatever I’m working on into the world. And here’s the truth – I’m addicted to that feeling. I’m hooked on that feeling like a gym bro is hooked on testosterone. It’s so freaking energizing to leave all my bullshit at the door, step outside of linear time, and let go of how I think things ‘should be’, so that I can be swept off my feet by this higher thing that’s seems all-too ready to take the wheel. I’ve come to think of the present moment as a door. Skating and writing as keys that open that door. And as for what it’s like on the other side of that door, all I can say is this: fuck, I’m glad I’ve found ways to get there.   

Transformative 

Writing and skating have made me better. Engaging in these pursuits has helped me in more ways than I could ever articulate (but here’s a few anyway). They gave this once confused and aimless kid something to explore and dedicate himself to, and in doing so they’ve shown me how far curiosity and dedication can take you. They’ve populated my life with many incredible people all of whom I’ve been able to relate to through our shared passions. They’ve given me the opportunity to face challenges and shown me that I can overcome much more than I allow myself to believe. They’ve pulled me through hard times by giving me something to focus on. They’ve given me something to work towards and care about, which has enriched my life with more meaning and purpose. And even though I didn’t engage in writing and skating to ‘gain anything’, or to ‘be better’ I believe it is a true testament to these pursuits that this sort of transformative process is simply a by-product of following them wherever they lead. In this way, it feels like writing and skating have been inadvertently helping me craft a better version of myself through nothing more than captivating me to craft words and tricks. And while I could go on and on, I think its best if I leave you with this: pouring my heart and soul into writing and skating has not only made me a better version of myself – it has also nourished me in a way I didn’t even know I needed.