II suppose we all have unfulfilled dreams. Perhaps it’s a career goal, maybe an unfinished degree or some other “what if”.

For me, it was surfing. I grew up on the East Coast at a time when the Beach Boys were singing in California about Surfing USA, Surfer Girls and Surfing Safaris. But my childhood summertime visits to the New Jersey shoreline were too infrequent and surfboards too scarce for me to “load up my woody” and catch any waves. So I pursued other ambitions: I learned to fly, I started a family, earned a couple of graduate degrees and climbed the corporate ladder.

It was my daughter who rekindled the flame decades later. Her high school graduation present was a trip with a friend to Southern California, where she was introduced to the cold Pacific near Huntington Beach and where she bought her first board (which she named “Uhani”). I tried to explain that there were huge complications involved with flying a surfboard home to Huntsville, Alabama (where I was with NASA at the time), and by the way, where would she use the board? - the nearest waves were 10 hours away! Maybe she was just bolder than I – I’m really OK with that - and so Uhani became part of the family and a visible reminder of my unfulfilled dream.

Shortly thereafter, at age fifty (that’s _50_!), my daughter, son and I took surf lessons on Maui. Forget about it – I was hooked! After our first surfing safari I was so sore that I couldn’t lift my arms to steer the rental car. In case you didn’t know, the first requirement of surfing is paddling, and paddling, and paddling. But I was living my dream, and there was this keen sense of competition I felt with my 18 year old daughter and 16 year old son.  So back to the beach we went, laden with Motrin for the aches and bandages for the coral cuts, and bolstered with stories of dropping in down the face of that perfect wave. We surfed until we couldn’t lift our arms and then we surfed some more. 

That’s not to say that it came easy; it didn’t. Sometimes things go right – the waves are glassy, you’ve got the right board for the conditions, and life is good. But there was the time when we surfed Honolua Bay on Maui, where the big boys surf. It’s a classic “right break”. You park your car at the top of the cliff and scramble down to the rocks below; you pick your spot carefully and paddle like hell between swells. The first wave I caught sent me sailing so fast that I was afraid to stand up! I laughed myself into submission, paddled back out, and hopped up onto my board on the next try. Several rides later my euphoria kept me on a wave too long. I realized I was headed too close to the rocks, so I bailed out. Unfortunately, the ensuing waves pushed me closer and closer to the rocks, and the current was stronger than I. Out of “airspeed and altitude,” I planted my feet against the cliffs and thrust against each oncoming swell, wondering if this was the way I’d meet my end. Fortunately, I devised an escape strategy, and my story became part of the family surfing annals.

There’s nothing like catching a wave. You watch the surf, see a dozen waves come and go, and then recognize that it’s all coming together. Paddle, paddle, paddle and hope! And there’s a moment when the wave embraces you. It transfers its energy to you, and you feel it. Push up, stand up and off you go, shooting across the face of the wave. There’s nothing like it, I promise you. A hundred people standing on the beach are watching and they want to be you, but it’s not about them. It’s about you and the wave and the stories you’ll tell with your kids.