Before we achieve any of our goals: love, money, a film studio…

We must first DESIRE it.

Desire drives the client to purchase, and desire drives the merchant to sell.

Desire is that wave that flushes through our veins when we see, hear, smell or touch what we want.

Desire guides us through rejection, heartache, and frustration.

When the dark hours befall us, when the road cracks before us, when we're bled almost dry…

Desire lights the way.

On January 13^th, 2009 at Inch Beach, Co. Kerry, Ireland, Desire saved me from drowning.

*****

Inch Beach is two miles of golden sand on the Dingle Peninsula, one of Europe's most westerly points, and one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

But beauty in Ireland comes in many forms. 

On this day, there were angry, broiling clouds overhead.

A 10-12mph SE offshore breeze at my back.

A vast 48°F Atlantic Ocean in front.

A perfect day for surfing, Irish style.

I had taken the 100-mile trip down from Galway with my then-girlfriend R and my friend B.

R was going to walk the shore, B was going to take his first surf lesson, I was going to surf farther out alone.

Squeezed into my wetsuit, board fin-up in the sand, I watch a few sets roll in.

No obvious rip currents, but definitely some weird cross-waves a bit further out.

“Anything to watch out for here?” I ask the laid-back Lifeguard.

“You know what you're doing?” he asks, his furrowed brow belying his chill beach-dude vibe.
“Pretty much. I'm careful too,” I reply, standing tall to reassert myself.

He carves a line in the air with his arm, cutting the beach in two.

“Stay to the right of the Guard Tower. Left of it someone who doesn't know what they’re doing can get pulled out to the open ocean,” he replies, still looking me up and down. Way to give a guy confidence before he hits the water.

I secure my ankle strap.

I watch the grey winter waters, flat out there beyond the white chop of the foreshore. A salty kiss reassures me.

“Have fun,” R chirps as I stride to the waterline, Malibu board under arm.

I loved the challenge of surfing.

When I first took lessons in 2007, overweight and unfit, I wiped out for four and a half painful, frustrating days.

Hour after hour of instruction and practice, unable to get my balance, timing or coordination right.

Gasping for air and dignity.

Why put myself through this?

From the very first time I went flying headfirst into the surf, I was hooked on the Desire to stand up before the week was out.

On the last session of the last day of lesson, I did it.

Every muscle and joint ached.

But Desire had seen me through. 

Paddling out now on this chilly winter's morning, I roll under the churning white wash, resurface, gasp in some salt-sprayed air and paddle for the flat, grey water beyond.

Despite what the videos of clean barrels, monster waves and crushing wipeouts show, surfing is mostly waiting and watching.

I slide up the board and turn to face the shore.

I'm lined up with the Lifeguard Tower.

That's my guide, and I watch for it often.

A few hundred yards out, I can see but not hear the shore.

I see B practicing pop-ups with his class.

R walking alone on the golden sand.

Each of us happy in our own spheres.

Each with our own Desire.

Something makes me turn back.

You get a feeling after surfing for a while.

The ocean speaks to you.

You learn to hear it.

There it is.

A set rolling in from the horizon.

I drop to my belly, and paddle to reposition myself. Sit back up for a better view. Too far right. Drop down to paddle some more. Sit up. That's it.

A strange silence as the ocean approaches. 

I turn the board and paddle. Look over my left shoulder. Nice. It will break right. The sound of the rolling ocean now reaches me.

It's loud, and low. I adjust my angle. Square on. Perfect.

The sound shifts from my left ear to my right.

That shouldn't be.

Did I turn too far?

I look over my right shoulder.

The wave builds there.

I look over my left shoulder.

The wave builds there too.

I've paddled right into the point where two cross-waves meet.

Uh-oh.

I veer left, hoping to avoid it. Too late.

The left-breaker lifts me, then the right-breaker drops me on my back.\

The board flips away, yanking my ankle cord. The two waves crash and drag me down.

Time stops as I fight to reach the surface.

One wave rolls overhead… two… three…

Held down in the grey, cold churn, I very much desire to reach the surface.

But out here, the ocean laughs at a mere human's desire.

I pop to the surface. Gulp in air. Ten seconds till the next set of cross-waves will hit.

I lunge for my bobbing board. Somehow yank my exhausted body up on it. Force aching arms to paddle towards the shore... but wait.

Which direction is the shore in?

I can't see more than ten yards in any direction: the waves are too high.

They roll towards me from all sides, as if I had been sucked into the bottom of a six-foot tall whirlpool.

The wind howls. The dark grey sky looms over. The sea churns beneath.

With no clear path to shore, which way should I go?

All I know is that I'm not sticking around. I'm going to move. Somewhere. Anywhere. Desire kicks in. Just about the same time as Fear.

The Fear surges from my belly to my chest. Squeezes through my throat into my brain. My thoughts race as the belly of my board slaps the churning water below.

The water doesn't want me to go.

It wants to claim me.

My fear wants to let it.

I think of my love R walking the shore a half mile away.

My soul brother B on his first surf lesson.

My beloved family a hundred miles away in Galway, my Mum's lifelong fear of the ocean about to be vindicated as it takes her son deep into its churning belly.

A wave hits from the left. Another from the right.

I paddle, but fear and exhaustion seizes my arms.

My breath is erratic. A short inhale. I hold it.

Smash!

A wave hits the nose of the board. I swallow a mouthful of salty water.

I can't breathe. I can't swallow. My muscles ache.

Is this how it goes down? Is it now? How long will it take for me to drown?

When I first started to surf, I read about drowning.

It's nasty.

The body does everything to keep water out of the lungs until it's physically impossible not to.

And that's when I decide. Enough. It's time to go.

The Desire to live kicks in.

Adrenaline surges through my body. It displaces the fear. My arms pump. My breath steadies.

From somewhere, I find new strength. New focus. New clarity.

There is nothing else in the universe that existed before or since this moment.

My body works at maximum strength and efficiency. 

DESIRE has taken me into FLOW.

And yet though I paddled, I still couldn't tell which way the shore was, or even if I was making any progress. Waves still hit me from all sides.

If a wave knocked me off the board now, I knew I wouldn't have the strength to get back on it again.

I had to give it everything.

I had to keep moving.

I had to keep the fear from rising to my chest where it would constrict my breathing.

No.

This was not how I was going to go. 

I windmill my arms for two minutes, maybe more.

Desire fights Fear.

The Desire to live.

The Desire for Shore.

And then a break in the grey water.

A strip of golden sand!

And then the heavenly view is smashed by more cross-waves crashing in front of me.

But I had seen it.

Desire had taken me from the fearful clutches of the grey deep and delivered me to the golden promised sand.

And that would be enough to take me the rest of the way.

I had a few minutes of relatively easy work to get to shore.

Time to think.

I knew I would live.

But how would I live?

A life driven by Fear?

Or a life guided by Desire?