Ocean Therapy: How Surfing Provides the Ultimate Creative Reset
Andreas Szakacs explores the mental and physical benefits of surfing, and how time in the ocean provides creative clarity for AI cinema and performance work.
The ocean doesn’t care about your career.
It doesn’t know you’re an actor. It doesn’t care about your latest project, your reviews, your industry status. In the water, you’re just another human trying not to get humbled by a wave.
That’s exactly what makes it perfect.
Finding Surfing
I came to surfing later than most. Not a childhood passion, but an adult discovery born from necessity.
Between projects, I was restless. My mind wouldn’t stop processing the previous role, worrying about the next one, analyzing industry trends, planning career moves.
A friend suggested we surf. I was terrible. Completely, embarrassingly terrible.
It was perfect.
The Forced Presence
Surfing demands absolute presence.
You can’t think about yesterday’s scene while reading a wave. You can’t plan tomorrow’s audition while timing your paddle. Your mind has to be completely here, now, or you get destroyed.
For someone whose profession requires constant self-analysis, this forced presence is medicine.
The ocean teaches what meditation teachers struggle to convey: presence isn’t a concept to understand. It’s a necessity to survive.
Physical Intelligence
Acting is mental and emotional work. Surfing is physical intelligence.
You learn to:
- Read water patterns instinctively
- Trust body intuition over mental analysis
- Respond to changing conditions without overthinking
- Accept when conditions aren’t working and walk away
These lessons translate directly to performance.
The best acting comes from body wisdom, not mental control. Surfing strengthens that channel.
The Ego Destroyer
The ocean is the ultimate ego destroyer.
Doesn’t matter how many films you’ve made or festivals you’ve attended. In the water, none of that matters. You’re learning a skill from scratch, failing repeatedly, looking foolish.
This is healthy. Necessary, even.
Success in one domain doesn’t transfer to others. Surfing reminds me I’m always a beginner at something. Always learning. Always humbled.
Morning Ritual
When I’m near coast, morning surf becomes ritual.
Before the day’s demands hit—emails, calls, meetings, creative work—I give myself to the ocean. Just waves, breath, movement.
This sets the tone for everything that follows.
Starting the day with physical challenge and mental clarity makes subsequent work feel manageable. Problems that seemed overwhelming at 2am feel solvable after dawn surf.
The Community
Surfing introduces you to a different community.
Most surfers don’t know or care about cinema. They’re doctors, teachers, tradespeople, students. Their passions lie elsewhere.
This outside perspective is grounding. It reminds me that the film industry is one small world among countless others. My career concerns aren’t universal concerns.
Conversations in the lineup never involve AI cinema debates or acting technique. They’re about wave conditions, board design, that time someone saw a dolphin.
Simple. Real. Refreshing.
Physical Conditioning
Surfing provides full-body conditioning that gym workouts can’t match.
The paddling builds upper body strength. The pop-ups require explosive power. The balance engages core constantly. The swimming develops cardiovascular endurance.
But unlike gym training, you’re not counting reps or tracking progress. You’re just doing the thing, enjoying the thing, getting stronger as a side effect.
This makes physical conditioning sustainable. It’s not a chore. It’s something I genuinely look forward to.
Risk and Reward
Every wave involves risk assessment.
Too small, you’re bored. Too big, you’re in danger. The sweet spot requires honest evaluation of your current skill level and conditions.
This risk calculation mirrors creative choices.
Every role involves similar assessment. Too safe, you’re not growing. Too ambitious, you’re overwhelmed. Finding that growth zone requires honest self-awareness.
Surfing practices this decision-making in real-time with immediate feedback.
The Wipeout Lesson
You will wipe out. Often. Violently, sometimes.
The ocean will spin you underwater, disorient you, hold you down. You’ll panic. You’ll fight. Eventually, you’ll learn to relax and wait.
Fighting makes it worse. Relaxation lets the ocean release you.
This lesson applies everywhere.
When projects fall apart, when performances don’t work, when career plans collapse—fighting reality makes it worse. Accepting what is, waiting for clarity, then responding wisely works better.
The ocean taught me this viscerally.
Environmental Connection
Spending time in the ocean connects you to environmental reality.
You notice pollution. You observe marine life. You feel water temperature changes. You understand that human choices impact this ecosystem.
This awareness influences how I live and what projects I choose. Cinema has environmental impact. AI computing has carbon footprint. These considerations matter.
Surfing made environmental issues personal, not abstract.
The Flow State
When everything aligns—your positioning, the wave, your timing—you enter flow state.
Time disappears. Effort becomes effortless. You’re not thinking or controlling. You’re just being, moving, responding.
This flow state is what actors chase in performance.
Surfing lets me practice accessing flow in low-stakes environment. The more I feel it in the water, the more available it becomes on camera.
Injury and Humility
I’ve been injured surfing. Nothing serious, but enough to remind me I’m not invincible.
This physical humility keeps me grounded.
When you spend your professional life having your face protected, your safety prioritized, your comfort ensured, you lose touch with physical vulnerability.
Surfing maintains that connection. I can get hurt. I’m mortal. This body has limits.
Strangely, this makes me a better actor. Vulnerability on screen requires comfort with vulnerability in life.
The Creative Reset
Surfing provides what nothing else does: complete creative reset.
After the ocean, my mind is clear. Problems have solved themselves. Creative blocks have dissolved. The next project feels exciting rather than daunting.
I return to AI cinema work with fresh perspective. The technical challenges seem solvable. The creative possibilities feel expansive.
This reset is why I prioritize surf time even during busy production schedules. It’s not indulgent. It’s essential.
Joy Without Purpose
Here’s the deepest gift: surfing has no purpose beyond itself.
I’m not surfing to become professional. Not training for competition. Not building skills for career purposes.
I surf because it’s fun. Because waves are beautiful. Because the ocean feels good.
In a life where everything serves career goals, this purposeless joy is radical.
It reminds me that being human means more than being productive. That experience has value beyond accomplishment. That joy doesn’t need justification.
The Horizon Line
There’s a moment every session when you sit on your board, looking at the horizon.
Waiting for the next set. Breathing. Watching light play on water. Feeling small in the best way.
That horizon line is where I remember what matters.
Not the career. Not the recognition. Not even the art.
Just being alive. Being present. Being part of something vastly larger than yourself.
The ocean doesn’t care about your career.
Thank god.