So you've just left the surf, you've followed every step in our kook's guide to surfing, and now you might be at the car park getting changed. Hell, you might just be chilling on the beach, your board wedged photogenically next to you, nose-first in the sand, just hoping someone will strike up a conversation about you getting shacked. Also hoping nobody actually witnessed you surfing. Whether you spent the entire time finding your bearings from the relentless hiding from the white water, or recovering from repeated nasal enemas, at least you've survived the mercy of the ocean.
At this point, ego takes over and almost forces you to make a post on Instagram with a visible shaka, shitty waves in the background, calling for the #gonesurfing, or perhaps the more holistic #blessed tag. It is at this point you should feel the spirit of aloha smack you square in the face for even thinking such shit.
No, this is the time where you have to pack up as swiftly as possible and just pray that the guy you dropped in on twice isn't coming back to his van. It also goes without saying that if you are approached by anyone who has just rocked up and asks you how it is, no matter how shit the waves actually were, you simply have to reply that it was 'fun, but much better on the dropping/pushing tide' (delete where applicable) and give a shit-eating grin, basking in the smugness of getting there before they did.
Surfing is hostile, for reasons nobody really knows why, but it is, and whether you like it or not, always has been, and forever will be. Much like life, just don't be a dick, and you'll coast through relatively unscathed, and, just like life itself, you might even have a good time along the way.