Surf, Don't Push
You Still Have Twelve Things To Do. The Wave Doesn't Care.
You cancelled three things on your calendar, migrated to the couch with a blanket and a turmeric latte, and announced to exactly nobody that you’re “honoring the slow energy today.”
Meanwhile, your inbox has 46 unread messages, your landlord called twice, and that deadline you swore was next week is tomorrow.
But you’re surfing. Definitely surfing.
On the other end of the spectrum, your colleague is on her fourth espresso, she’s reorganized her desk, replied to emails from 2023, started a new project, picked a fight with accounting, and it’s not even noon. She’s also “surfing.” She’s “matching the high energy.” Her jaw is clenched so tight her molars are considering early retirement.
There’s a difference between listening to the rhythm of your body and using “rhythm” as a very aesthetic word for avoidance. And there’s a difference between riding momentum and letting adrenaline drag you behind a speedboat by the ankles.
One is intelligence. One is a blanket fort with better branding. The third is a panic attack in a productivity costume.
(Your brainstem, watching you confuse all three: “Okay so... are we resting or hiding? Because the cortisol says hiding but the Instagram story says ‘aligned.’ I’ve been getting mixed signals since 2019. Can someone just TELL me what we’re doing? My norepinephrine is on standby and I genuinely do not know if we’re launching or napping. The to-do list says launching. The blanket says napping. The latte says both. I’m going to need a department meeting. WHERE IS THE PREFRONTAL CORTEX. Oh. She left early. Of course she did.”)
Deep in your brainstem, smaller than a grain of rice, sits a cluster of neurons called the locus coeruleus. It runs your entire norepinephrine supply. Think about that for a second. A poppy-seed-sized knot of cells is deciding whether you scan the room or lock onto a target. Whether you drift or strike. Every single time you “just knew” it was time to act... that was this little structure firing a phasic burst before your conscious mind even finished its sentence.
Two modes. Tonic: wide, slow, scanning. Reading the ocean. And phasic: sharp, precise bursts. Catching the wave.
Surfing is tonic first, then phasic. You read, then you ride.
Pushing is skipping the reading entirely and paddling like a maniac toward a wave that already broke six seconds ago. You’re not catching anything. You’re just wet and out of breath and somehow further from shore than when you started.
And lying on the board calling it “flow state” while the ocean literally moves around you? Tonic without phasic. You scanned the room brilliantly. You never stood up. Your brainstem sent the memo. You archived it between “dentist appointment” and “finally start meditating.”
The question was never fast or slow. The question was always: is the speed coherent? Coherent means breath matches pace. Chest isn’t tight while the mouth says “I’m great.” Jaw isn’t clenched while the calendar says “spacious day.” The body and the story are telling the same truth at the same time. That’s it. That’s the whole exam.
Pay attention now. Because tempo and regulation are two completely different axes. And most people treat them like they’re married. They’re not married. They’re not even dating. They met once at a conference and exchanged business cards and never followed up.
There are four actual states your system moves through on any given day.
