It was soon after we moved to Bali. One evening we were watching the sunset, the sky putting on a show in every colour. We sat with coconut water, watching the surfers. And in that moment I realised: if life were like surfing, each of us would arrive with a surfboard of our own. Like your fingerprint, it belongs only to you.
Some boards are long and steady, some more nimble, some faster. But no board is better than another. Just different.
Is my body just difficult?
The morning routine your friend swears by leaves you drained. The food everyone praises leaves you bloated. Something you started with real enthusiasm quietly falls away after a few weeks, and you are back where you began. Someone once put it to me like this: "The smallest thing sends me back to the start, and I end up worse."
Most of us look for the reason in ourselves. I'm not disciplined enough. My body is difficult. Yet most advice was shaped for someone else's surfboard. It isn't wrong. It just wasn't made for yours.
The waves will always come
Life will always bring waves, wind, even storms. Work, relationships, seasons, the unexpected, getting older. We can't change that, and Ayurveda doesn't try to stop the waves. The trouble starts when we try to ride them without knowing our own board.
Every board leans a little to one side. When the wind picks up, some get thrown around more, others hold steady. When you know your own board, you get the chance to learn your own moves. That is the whole story of Ayurveda: knowing your board, and learning, in any condition, how to steer it back to balance.
What is your surfboard made of?
Ayurveda calls this board prakriti. It's a Sanskrit word for your essence, the nature you were created with. The way you were when you arrived in this world.
Five elements make up the board: space, air, fire, water and earth. All five are in every one of us; without them we couldn't exist. Only the proportions differ. Maybe you've taken a dosha quiz, tried to fit yourself into one box, and found a bit of yourself in every box. That's completely normal. The combinations are endless. That's why I don't love labels. It's more honest to get to know your board by its qualities: cold or hot, oily or dry, heavy or light.
Let me use myself as an example. I was born with a cold, dry and light nature. Heaviness isn't really my thing, yet around the change of seasons I can feel heavy. Someone whose digestive fire runs slow, though, finds their board landing right there most of the time. What I meet once in a blue moon at a season's turn is familiar ground for them. Same wave, two different boards.
For me, the clearest example is salad. I used to eat salad all the time, and I loved it. Now I have it only now and then, and only at lunch. In winter, my body won't have it at all.
I'm not saying salad is bad. But it's very cold, whatever you put in it. And it's hard to digest, even though it looks light and easy.
So what does cold mean here? Salad is raw, and most of the green leaves in it have a cooling quality. My board, on the other hand, is already cold. And when the season is cold too, the three come together, and instead of balancing me, the salad pushes me further out of balance. In summer the air is warm, and that cold plate can find its balance there.
And why lunch, not dinner? Because at midday the sun is at its highest, and so is our digestive fire. It's strong enough to handle a raw plate. By evening, it has burned lower.
Where has your board drifted right now?
One distinction matters here. There's the board you were born with, and there's how you are today. The season, life, your choices, a restrictive diet, even a treatment can push your board to one side. I was born with a cold board, yet at times I fall out of balance from heat. In those moments, instead of looking for a new label, I look at where my board has drifted right now.
When you rebalance, the amount matters. If I'm balancing cold with heat, I use only as much heat as it takes to come back. If I keep piling on heat, I end up too hot. The aim is always the middle: neither too cold nor too hot, neither too oily nor too dry. Life will keep throwing us off somewhere. Our part is to keep finding our way back to the middle, one small change at a time.
Why don't we know our own board?
It isn't anyone's fault. When something works for one person, it's natural to assume it will work for everyone. But nothing suits everyone. If a board that leans hot starts the day with vinegar water, the stomach will speak up loud and clear. Nobody taught us to know our board. So when we fell, we blamed either the wave or ourselves.
The language of Ayurveda
This is exactly what Ayurveda is about. Which way does your board lean? What does it do when the wind picks up? Which waves does it ride steadily, and which ones does it need support with?
This is the language Ayurveda teaches us. Its name literally means the science of life.
And its story is this: once you know your board, you can find your way back to it whenever a wave comes.