Finding Stability in a World That Never Stops Moving – Surfing the Waves of Life

Where do we find stability when everything around us feels like it’s shifting?

This question has been living quietly in my heart lately. Each time I ask it, I am reminded of a season in my life in my early thirties, in which I walked the same trail along the Potomac River in Virginia, every single day.

The path wound alongside the water, where birds flew in the sky above and sunlight shimmered through the trees like tiny blessings cast across the rocks. It felt like the one constant in my life.

But slowly, I began to notice: even though I walked the same trail each day, nothing ever truly stayed the same.

The water levels in the Potomac river shifted. Leaves gathered in new patterns. Plants would rise from the soil, bloom, and fade. Branches fell.  

Nature was always moving. Always becoming. Always in changing and in some stage of letting go or starting again.

And it made me wonder—if the world around me was allowed to change, why wasn’t I?

Why did I judge myself for feeling tired some days?

Why did I feel guilty when my energy dipped or my focus wavered?

At some point, I had decided that stability meant sameness.

Same mood. Same productivity. Same motivation, day in and day out. And when I didn’t match that ideal, I thought I was falling short.

But walking that path each day, nature began to teach me something different.

The problem wasn’t that life was changing—it was that I kept expecting it not to. As if the river could stay still, as if stillness was the proof of peace.

But real peace came when I stopped resisting the current—and started moving with it.

In DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy), there’s a concept called Radical Acceptance. It means letting go of the illusion of control and accepting things as they are—not because you like it, but because it is. It’s not passive resignation, but an empowered choice to stop fighting reality, so you can respond with clarity.  

Radical acceptance parallels the ancient Buddhist practice of "equanimity" (upekkhā)—the capacity to meet all experiences, pleasant or painful, with calm and balance. It’s also deeply connected to the Four Noble Truths, especially the idea that suffering arises from resistance and craving—and that peace comes from letting go.

So as I walked along the Potomac river each day, I began to radically accept the truth:

The only real stability in life is knowing that there is none.

Peace begins the moment we stop resisting that truth.

Everything we see—every tree, every season, every person, every moment—is impermanent. Why should we expect ourselves to be any different?

Stability doesn’t come from controlling the external world.

It comes from finding grounding within, from trusting in the natural rhythms of change. Realizing this truth softened something inside me.

In my work as a clinical psychologist, I’ve seen this belief show up time and again: the quiet conviction that if we can just manage every detail—control every outcome—we’ll finally feel safe.

It’s an understandable instinct, especially for those who’ve spent years holding it all together. But that kind of peace is fragile. It unravels the moment life gets messy—which, of course, it always does.

That’s why I often share the words of mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn:

“You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”

In my experience, it’s one of the most liberating truths life has to offer. It’s simple. Grounding. And profoundly freeing.

You can’t stop the waves—because waves are just the nature of the ocean. And life, like the ocean, has its tides. It has its crashing moments. Its stillness. Its unpredictability. Its chaos.

It’s not personal. It’s just the nature of how life is—constantly in motion. But you can learn to surf—and surfing is where your power lies.

Learning to surf means choosing how you respond. It means accepting that the waves will come—but also realizing you're not powerless.

You have a choice. You can meet each wave with presence, with steadiness, with courage.

And part of surfing, maybe the hardest part, is staying with the wave that’s right in front of you. Not the one that might come in twenty minutes or the one you’re afraid of two days from now. Just this very one.

And that’s the adventure:

Learning to ride each wave as it comes. Falling off the board. Climbing back on. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but always being open to each wave and the nature of life itself, using it all as opportunities to learn how to surf better and better.

And perhaps the greatest part? We don’t have to surf alone. There’s something beautiful about surfing alongside others—catching the same wave, cheering each other on, falling and getting back up together.

Embrace your dance with life as a surfer. Meet each wave with presence, excitement, and gratitude for the chance to ride, with a full, open-hearted embrace of it all.

So as we move into spring and summer, whether you're actually stepping into the ocean or just navigating the waters of everyday life— may you feel the invitation to Be Here Now.

Meet each wave as it rises and know that you don’t have to do it perfectly. You just have to keep showing up, board in hand, heart open. Have fun surfing with others. Laugh together. Fall together. Get back up together. That’s where joy emerges.