For Jesse Richman, chasing the thrill isn’t a choice—it’s who he is. Whether it’s dropping everything for an adventure or pushing limits just to see what’s possible, his addictive nature has always fueled his passion. That fire turned into a full-blown obsession with riding Jaws—a dream that came with a heavy price. From brutal wipeouts to intense mental crashes, Jesse had to choose: walk away or turn the chaos into something sustainable. Now, what was once a reckless addiction is a refined lifestyle—built on training, planning, and purpose. His story is proof that our flaws can become our fuel—if we learn how to harness them.

I’ve always been happily lured away from whatever I do at the first sign of a good time. When friends call, the waves are up, or the adventure is on, I will drop everything and follow the vibe. And truthfully, I’ve always had a pretty addictive personality. If one is good, two are better. If diving 100 feet feels magical, let’s try 150. A 40-foot wave is mind-blowing—how does a 60-footer feel? It doesn’t matter what it is—if I love it, I want more.

That kind of mindset has most definitely fueled my kiting addiction. But as I’ve matured, I’ve had to either refine those addictions so they work for me—or drop the activity altogether.

What I mean is, I’ve always had a deep, burning desire to rip at Jaws. I saw it as a kid and dreamed of being one of the surfers charging the big days. That desire turned into a full-blown obsession, and with it came a heavy price. A long day at Jaws is physically, mentally, and emotionally brutal. It’s not just about performance—it’s about survival.

This past winter, I took some heavy wipeouts that left me with stretched eardrums from the violent pressure changes, a torn shoulder muscle, and constant sunburns on my skin and eyes. But honestly, the physical toll is just part of it. The mental build-up to these sessions can be overwhelming. Dialing in the timing, organising safety support (without blowing the entire budget on a less-than-average day), and juggling all the logistics—it’s a lot. And after it all, the post-session crash is wild. I get major mood swings, my brain feels depleted, and reintegrating with “normal” life and family can feel like trying to land a helicopter on a moving boat.

This chaos, paired with my addictive tendencies, left me with a choice: either drop the addiction—like I’ve done with plenty of things that no longer served me—or become a total ninja about it and turn it into something sustainable.

I’ve had to fight my impulsive behaviors and learn to make plans—days, weeks, even years out. Now, my Jaws addiction is healthily baked into my life. I’m not stressed because I’m already planning for next season. My training is integrated into my daily routine. My gear prep is a never-ending mission. And my physical and mental conditioning is no longer just a frantic pre-swell scramble—it’s a continuous process. I also come in from a session well before I feel the need to—never letting myself get totally depleted.

I believe our greatest power lies in taking our flaws—like an obsessive, addictive personality—and turning them into something good that fuels purpose and passion.

Channel that, and you’re unstoppable.

 

By Jesse Richman

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