I don’t often write about work here – for good reason. Compartmentalize. But this post is different.

Context. A couple weeks ago, an intern and I chatted. She asked, “why do you enjoy your job?” I found it easy to answer her question. “This role lets me learn all the time. Every day is different. And even though I now have two-decades of experience, I’m always challenged. That means I’m always happy. Boredom is my enemy.”

As I crafted this post, I knew I wanted to write about my recent personal firsts. These unfolded between two weekends in late October. But I was unsure of the through-line. Then it hit me while jotting down an idea in my notebook.

I enjoy my job and surfing for the same damn reasons. I’m always learning and always facing challenges. Every wave is different. Even if I hit the same beach every day, each slab of water moves with its own personality. I’m never bored in the ocean.

So what were all the firsts? Personal first one. I surfed The Hook for the first time. Sandy Hook, New Jersey to be precise. It’s a narrow sliver of land that juts out from the northeastern tip of Jersey northward into the Raritan Bay.

Driving in, for about a quarter-mile, tall beach grass and reeds surrounded the car, blocking any view. It felt like cruising down an Outer Banks causeway, miles from civilization. But the hustle and bustle of the New Jersey Turnpike, and stench of the refineries were only 30-minutes away. After a while, the reeds disappeared and parking lots popped up along the east side of the street. The bay and small beaches were visible on the west side of the street. I parked in Lot C. High dunes separated the lot and the beach. After gearing up, I walked through a split in the rolling sand. My crew bobbed in the water. They were already having fun, already sharing stoke. I ran in and paddled out as fast as possible.

The waves broke pretty clean, meaning they broke almost like a line of dominoes. In wave-speak, you want shoulders. Not closeouts. When the whitewater breaks like a line of dominoes it lets a surfer ride across the face. If the entire wave breaks at the same time, a surfer can only aim straight for the beach. It’s a shorter ride and less fun. These waves were good. Not great. Nothing to store in the memory bank. But the view was one that I’ll never forget.

As I paddled around to get position, I picked up my head and glanced north. New York City’s majestic skyline cropped up in the distance. This wasn’t city surfing, but it was damn near close. There are times when I’m in sitting on my board in the water and I think – There’s nothing better than right now. That morning was one of those times.

Over the course of the next week, I had a few more firsts. My surf group is mostly a first-light crew. It enables us to get salty without infringing on too much family time. Stay focused. But I’m normally the last one to show up. One weekday morning, we parked in our usual spot and while everyone pulled on their wetsuits, I found myself ready. Last in the lot, last in the ocean. Not that day. Personal first two. I took advantage and jumped in and grabbed a handful of waves before anyone else made it to the waterline. After a nice little peeler, I realized it was the first time I’d been first in. I’ve been surfing with them for five-years.

That same week, one late afternoon, I found myself alone. The girls were both at dance for another few hours. I’d completed my chores. It was late October, but the air had an August heat. And the water was still gloriously warm. No wetsuit needed. That’s unheard of in October. What do I fill my time with? I peeked at the surf cam on the Manasquan Inlet. There were some waves to be had. Nothing spectacular. But I didn’t care. I threw my longboard in my car. It was about 6:30 p.m. by the time I got there. Sunset already underway. I had just about 35-minutes before sunlight fully disappeared.

The waves were challenging. The wind shifted and made the break sloppy. Still, though, I managed to grab a few. As I glided toward the beach, I relished at the sky’s kaleidoscope tie-dyed colors of red, orange, and pink. That night, for the first time, I was last out of the ocean. I walked up the beach as the sun’s last-light dipped below the horizon. Only the flickering streetlights illuminated the parking lot .

The next weekend, on Sunday, I hit the Inlet again. Surf reports said 1-2 feet. Surf reports often get it wrong, not unlike regular weather forecasts. The report that day was way off. What was supposed to be 1-2 feet really looked like it was head-high. The recent double hurricanes had moved sand on the bottom around, and so it appeared to be a double sandbar. One step in and the depth dropped at least 6-feet. Paddle about 20-feet and it shallowed out and I stood easily. Then it dropped again. Then one more less shallow sandbar.

The ocean churned hard that entire stretch between sandbars, and from the outer break to the inner break. Swell and waves crashed from every direction, some even parallel to the beach. Only a few of us were there. We questioned it from the safety of the sand before we went in. I thought to myself, is this worth it? I went for it anyway. Challenging myself is the only way to get better.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took to paddle out to the second break. I spent most of that time underwater, constantly getting knocked off my board by the powerful whitewater. Exhaustion set in, but I persisted in repetition. Wave crashed. I held my breath and got spun around like a rag doll. Got on my board and paddled a few times. Wave crashed. Again and again. Until finally I was beyond the second break. I sat on my board and heaved, forgetting how much tougher it was to paddle in a wetsuit.

After gathering myself for a minute, I saw a peak coming in. It looked like it’d shoulder. It looked rideable. I swooped my board around, lay down, paddled hard, and dug in. I popped to my feet for a split second as I careened down the wave. But only a split second. I dug my rail in too hard and flung myself right over. I proceeded to tumbled down the rest of the wave and ended right back on the inside. I was back in the washing machine.

I paddled for what felt like another 30-minutes. Wave after wave crashed down on me. While underwater, the force of the waves pulled my board, keeping me submerged. At one point, as I swam to the surface, I felt myself tire. Then I swallowed a ton of saltwater. Coughing and tired, I thought to myself, if I stay out here, I might tire too much and drown. Then I said out loud, “this is bullshit. I’m done.”

I grabbed the nose of my board and paddled for shore, letting the white water do the work. Once in, I lay on the sand and panted as if I’d run a marathon. “Holy crap, that was crazy,” said one of my friends. “I’m done. It’s too tough inside.” Another friend paddled in, too. “I’m actually sea sick,” he said, “I’ve not been sea sick in 20-years.” He fell to the sand.

That wasn’t the first time I thought the ocean might get the best of me. And it wasn’t the worst either. She doesn’t care much for anyone. She’ll take you if you’re not respectful of her power. Surfing is one of a few recreational sports where death is possible. But that’s another story.

After we slowly walked back to the parking lot, we grabbed a coffee and a bite at Carlson’s Corner. Carlson’s is a Manasquan staple at the Inlet and a must-try for visitors. It’s been serving food and drinks to tourists, locals, fisherman, and surfers since 1937.

I ordered my first Lifeguard Wrap – a tortilla stuffed with eggs, sausage, hash browns and cheese. I love a good breakfast wrap. But normally I don’t bother with hash browns or any breakfast potatoes. They’re stomach filler and I’d rather eat more eggs. That morning, I felt my body needed all the recovery calories.

I’m happy I broke my potato rule. The wrap hit the spot and was the perfect rolled blend of protein and carbs. I washed it all down with some Law Coffee. The joe was good. But at that moment, my brain wasn’t concerned with the brew’s flavor profile. I was more occupied with rejuvenating my drained energy and bruised surfer morale.

As I sat there scarfing my breakfast, I thought about all my personal firsts. I knew it’d be a Triple B topic. I started listing out each. First time to The Hook. First in the ocean. First time I was last in the ocean. I remembered that week I’d even cross-stepped twice down toward the nose of my longboard for the first time. It’s a move used to get forward and keep speed. Nose riders cross-step all the way to end of the nose to hang ten.

I have no desire to pull off that classic move. I enjoy cruising too much. But who knows. There’s a first for everything.