I'm not surfing much anymore, but I love hiking and gardening

“I’m not surfing much anymore, but I love hiking and gardening, and I’m always wearing a hat and sunblock.” Thus spoke Carolyn Murphy, model and muse, a woman once carried by the waves of youth and fame, who now walks with steadier steps upon the solid earth. In her words lies not mere talk of leisure or habit, but the quiet wisdom of transformation—the acceptance of time’s passing and the grace to find new forms of joy. It is a reflection born of maturity, where one learns that the rhythm of life changes like the tides, and that to live fully is to move with those tides, not against them.

The origin of this quote rests in the life of one who has walked both the dazzling paths of beauty and the humble paths of the natural world. Carolyn Murphy, once celebrated as one of the great icons of modeling, lived her early years surrounded by light, adventure, and the constant motion of the world. Surfing, for her, was a symbol of that time—wild, free, and sunlit. But as years passed, the body, that sacred vessel of experience, began to whisper its limits. Where once she danced with waves, now she walks among trees and gardens, grounded yet no less alive. Her words speak of acceptance, not loss; of evolution, not decline.

In saying “I love hiking and gardening,” she reminds us that life’s beauty does not fade when its form changes. The ocean may no longer carry her, but the mountain now challenges her, and the garden rewards her patience. The spirit that once rode the sea now finds meaning in the earth beneath her feet. For all true lovers of nature, the transition from water to soil, from wave to seed, is not an ending but a deepening. The surfer who once moved with the motion of the sea now learns the slower rhythm of the land—the breathing of the trees, the growth of flowers, the silence that follows the wind. Both are songs of the same creation, though sung in different keys.

Even her mention of the simplest things—“wearing a hat and sunblock”—speaks quietly of wisdom. Once, she may have chased the golden sun with fearless abandon, as the young so often do. Now, she honors that same sun with reverence—protecting herself, respecting nature’s power rather than defying it. In this, she reflects the journey of the soul from impetuous youth to mindful maturity. The ancients taught this truth as well: that wisdom begins when one learns to walk in harmony with the world, not in conquest of it. To protect oneself from the sun is not to fear it, but to honor it—to recognize that even the light must be approached with balance and respect.

The transformation Carolyn Murphy describes echoes the stories of many who have embraced the gentle wisdom of age. The great painter Claude Monet, in his later years, could no longer travel far, nor paint the bustling scenes of Paris. Instead, he turned inward—toward his garden in Giverny, where water lilies floated and willows bent to the breeze. There, confined to one place yet free in spirit, he created masterpieces that outshone all his earlier work. What he lost in vigor, he gained in depth. What he could no longer seize through motion, he discovered through stillness. Murphy’s journey mirrors that same truth: that the garden and the mountain may reveal what the ocean once did—the eternal, renewing presence of life itself.

Her love for hiking and gardening also carries a deeper symbolism: these are acts of connection. To hike is to rediscover the strength of one’s own steps, to move in rhythm with the land, to breathe the air as it was meant to be breathed. To garden is to become a participant in creation itself, to place one’s hands in the same soil that gave birth to all life. Both require patience, awareness, and humility—the qualities that the restless waves of youth often wash away. In these quiet pursuits, Murphy teaches us that joy does not depend on speed or spectacle, but on the simple presence of the soul within the moment.

Therefore, my child, take this wisdom to heart: life will change its shape as you walk its path, but it need not lose its wonder. Do not cling too tightly to the old waves, nor fear the stillness that follows them. When one passion fades, another is waiting to bloom. Protect your body, honor your years, and continue to seek beauty—not only in motion, but in groundedness, in care, in balance. Wear your hat and your sunblock, not as shields of fear, but as symbols of self-respect, reminders that even in gentleness, there is strength.

For in the end, Carolyn Murphy’s words remind us that life’s truest grace lies not in holding on to youth, but in learning to age beautifully—to trade the roar of the surf for the whisper of leaves, to find serenity where once there was striving. Every stage of life offers its own form of sunlight, and the wise soul learns not only to bask in it, but to walk beneath it in peace.