Summer is over. This means a few things. First, it means New Jersey’s small waves make way for fall and winter swells. Seems counterintuitive. Summer should bring in the big swells, but conditions usually give us knee-high peelers. They’re fun, especially on longboards – logs. Second, it means wetsuits get unpacked. There’s something freeing about sitting in the lineup without being covered head-to-toe in rubber. But there’s something adventurous about jumping in the Atlantic when the water temperature is 45 degrees. Last, it means I finish my annual reading of The Old Man and the Sea.

Why do I read this book once a year? Hemingway really triggered my desire to write. I’ll never forget reading A Clean, Well-Lighted Place in Sophomore year of high school. The simplicity, yet vividness, of Hemingway’s words amazed me. I’ve also observed a pattern in my own writing over the years. I hit summer with a productivity lull. Much like the summer waves. Old Man serves as a mental boost to my own creativity. Finally, it stands as the gold standard I’d like to achieve. Some writers hope to pen an opus, some thousand page bible that takes a reader three-months to get through. Not me. My ambition is to craft a story that is as simple as it is moving.

I do have a book kindling deep in the recess of my brain. I’m actually considering setting aside my other book to get this one down on paper.

The question is, how do I balance it? How do I prioritize my time between working, surfing, writing, and family? What’s most important to me?

If you ask my wife, she’ll probably say that I’ll drop anything when the break is good. My kids will probably say I’m always working, face in the laptop.

The reality is simple. There will always be other waves. And I can write any time, as long as I have some discipline. I’ll never get back the memories I make with my family. Nothing is better than hanging out with my daughters. And I cherish going on dates with my wife.

Be present. It’s something that I attempt in life, but often fail to execute. Surfing teaches this mindset. I can’t be distracted when I’m paddling into a wave, reading its contours, and adjusting to how it breaks. I’ll miss the wave or wipeout if my mind is somewhere else. Same goes for writing. I find it difficult to sit in a noisy location and write. I need quiet, except maybe some early Miles Davis. This lets me zone in and get to a mental flow state. So I try to transfer this to life as a dad and husband.

A couple months ago, our family traveled south to Cape May, New Jersey. My boards remained home. We stayed at The Grand Hotel , a beautiful escape right across from the beach. Yes, only a few footsteps away from the surf and I left my boards in our garage. The decision was so surprising that the first morning while walking the soft sand as a family, my wife said she was “shocked” that I hadn’t put a board on the truck. “I want to be here with you,” I said. “Besides the forecast wasn’t great.”

We found ourselves in Cape May because my younger daughter had a feis – an Irish Step Dance competition. The word means festival in Gaelic. And these events are festive. The Irish Step Dance world is one that we’d not known until our daughter asked to take lessons. To that point our kids had taken other dance classes – ballet, jazz, tap. The feis was foreign. These competitions are held in venues from convention centers to basement studios. Hordes of kids are crammed onto way too small dance floors. Fiddles, anglo concertinas – look like accordions – and giant wigs fill the venues.

As my girls grow up, we find ourselves attending more and more recitals and dance competitions. From what I can tell it’s a typical parent pattern. I don’t even check the wave forecast when these events hit the calendar. I’d rather not worry about what I may or may not be missing. Be present.

Cape May turned out to be one hell of a fitting trip, too. The Grand was an old hotel and maintains an old-world charm. Most of the rooms faced the beach. The doors opened to catwalks, reminiscent of the coastal motels, I vacationed to with my family as a kid.

And it just so happens that the attached restaurant and bar was called Hemingway’s. Unsurprisingly, the venue was decorated in dark teak wood, accented by turquoise everything. Chair covers, bench seats, everything. They try to transport patrons to his world. Adorning the walls were giant marlin and other fish that they believe Hemingway would appreciate.

In addition to the aquatic decor, photos of Papa himself.

If the restaurant wanted to ooze a Florida Keys vibe for their visitors, they did a decent job. If they wanted to create a writer’s vibe, they did a better job. Though they may not realize it.

Was the food good? Meh. Were the drinks great? They didn’t have the famous Hemingway Daiquiri. But he drank everything and anything, so I guess you could say the entire bar menu was in his honor. None of that mattered. The atmosphere was a home run.

Now to the brews.

That weekend, the Feis was in Wild Wood, NJ, at the convention center. The massive building is right on the boardwalk and looks out over the ocean. Waves weren’t great so no surfing FOMO. Besides, be present. I was there to watch my daughter.

At the end of the first day, after a few hours of dance spectating, we were all hungry. So we navigated to a brewery a stones throw away – MudHen. It’s a large spot, with multiple seating options – inside, outside under an overhang, fully outside. It was nicely decorated, combining a seashore feel with a brewery, unlike some places that maintain their industrial ambiance.

MudHen is no startup brewery. Matter of fact, in 2024 their Wee Heavy Wilson Scotch Ale won gold at the World Beer Cup. So I did what I always do. Instead of trying the popular beer, I went for something else. I ordered a flight of three distinct beers.

The beers were each delicious in their own way, but I found myself gravitate to the pils. It was so smooth but still had flavor to it, fitting for what I was about to order next.

A bit of context. I’d also been reading a great surf book called Flow Violento. The author shares stories of his surf adventures throughout Mexico, Central and South America. His tales nearly always include indulging descriptions of local cuisine. So now, I crave tacos almost every time I surf.

That day at MudHen, I went for the blackened shrimp tacos. In my opinion they deserved a gold medal. Matter of fact, I devoured them so quickly that I forgot to snap a pic. As I pulled my face away from my empty plate, I looked at my wife and kids at the table. They were enjoying their own meals, talking and laughing. I was present. The waves were only a few blocks away, but I didn’t care. Besides, the waves weren’t any good.