Learning how to surf was never on my bucket-list. Neither was a trip to Kauai. 

But when you're diagnosed with cancer and then declared cancer-free in the same year, anything goes.

I tagged along with one of my closest college friends, F, who’d planned a solo Kauai trip. She'd already booked a hike, so I reserved a surfing lesson for the same time. We'd meet up afterward.

I drove to the meeting spot, a surf shop near Poipu Beach along the south shore. Two families were waiting: one with teenagers, the other with young girls and their parents. Reassuring myself, I thought, If these kids can do it, so can I.

We were supposed to have an introductory video lesson in the shop's classroom, but the two instructors, running on "Hawaii time," showed up late and led us straight to the beach with our boards.

By now, my heart was racing - surely there'd be some kind of instruction before hitting the waves!

Nope, no demonstrations, just a few words about watching the waves and how to “fall” into the ocean.

Well, I beat cancer - this is nothing. They’re not going to let me drown.

The instructors had us grab our boards and follow them into the ocean. Paddle time.

Really? My only surfing knowledge came from movies.

Okay, at least I knew how to stand-up paddleboard (mostly in calm water, with two ventures into choppy waves).

I can do this.

One instructor, A, guided me out on the board and asked my name - I told him. He said, “That’s the best name - my mother’s Lily.” He probably sensed my nervousness and that was his calming tactic? Then the other instructor, J, the big Kahuna told me to get ready -

Dude, I have abso-freakin-lutely NO idea what I’m doing.

"Trust me, listen, and get ready," he said.

GET READY FOR WHAT?

The waves tossed me around, and I started to feel queasy – I hadn't realized surfing could make me sea-sick.

When J shouted, “LET’S GO”, I paddled like crazy until he told me to stand up – omg I did it, I stood and “surfed” for a glorious five seconds before crashing into the water.

Mind you, I’m not the strongest swimmer, even though that was a requirement to take a surf lesson.

I vividly remember falling into the clear blue water, then searching for the sunlight above me. Spotting my board, I frantically grabbed the leash around my ankle and pulled the board toward me, hoisting myself up - but not before another wave crashed forcing me to gulp down more of the salty seawater.

The waves seemed relentless. Before I knew it, I was standing in shallow water, dragging myself out of the ocean.

Everything ached. I felt like I was hauling a ton of bricks and on the verge of puking.

Reaching the beach where I left my things, I scrambled for my water canteen and rinsed the salt out of my mouth. I felt awful.

I collapsed on the board for a few minutes to catch my breath. I felt suffocated. The bathing suit and rash guard had to go.

At this point, I had so much adrenaline running through me that everything felt numb. I was done. I needed to get away from the ocean, but first, I had to drag myself to the car.

I mumbled to the mom of the two girls that I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave - it didn't matter that there was still an hour left of the “lesson”. Just tell them I had to go.

I gathered my things and remembered there was a public bathroom at the top of the hill. I somehow made it there, but found no relief. The facilities had seen better days.

By now, F was waiting for me to pick her up. I made it to the car, grabbed a change of clothes, and called her, explaining I was in no shape to drive. No worries, she'd figure it out.

Thankfully, the beach was near a Sheraton. After changing, I walked up to the concierge and, despite not being a guest, asked for a ginger ale. They directed me towards the pool bar.

On the way, I saw an inviting grassy area under some palm trees. Collapsing there, I lay for a while in the shade.

The nausea lingered. Ginger ale could wait. The hotel's public restrooms were closer. Maybe cleaning up would help. Maybe getting out of the hot sun and rinsing the salt and sand away would do the trick.

After washing up, I ended up on the spotless floor of a corner stall, trying to ground myself.

Eventually…I felt better and ventured to the bar for my ginger ale.

Relief. Finally.

F managed to meet me, and I recounted the entire ordeal to her.

–

I’ve only shared this story with a few people, including my parents. They couldn’t stop cry-laughing at my sheer recklessness. At that time, I felt no fear. I’d just been through something far worse (at least in my mind).

Reflecting on the experience, almost two years later, I still have no regrets. How often do we live life in fear of the “what ifs”? Of what others might think, of what might go wrong?

Sure, it didn’t end up like a scene straight out of the movies - but at least I had the guts to be (spectacularly) bad at something new.

That experience opened a door. Since then, I've embraced all sorts of new things I never thought I'd be interested in:

Bird watching, rainforest hikes, gardening, houseplants, and even tea blending (more on that later).

There's a little phrase by Emily P. Freeman that resonates with me:

Pick what you like, then see how it grows.

It's a powerful reminder that it's never too late to start something new, or to start again.