Hello everyone, I’m Cathy.
If you had asked me on a recent Saturday morning whether I would rather fold three loads of warm laundry or squeeze my stiff, tired bones into a tight neoprene wetsuit to freeze in the Pacific Ocean, the laundry would have won in a heartbeat. As adults, our weekends are often just an extension of our weekly stress, neatly packaged into color-coded spreadsheets, grocery lists, and the invisible mental load of keeping a family of six afloat. But last weekend, my twelve-year-old son Ryan looked at me with absolute, unadulterated excitement, clutching his rented surfboard like it was a golden ticket, and somehow convinced me to trade the kitchen counter for the Malibu shore.
That morning turned out to be a profound lesson in humility and resilience. While I stood on the sand calculating the risk of looking completely ridiculous in front of twenty-year-old surfing instructors, Ryan saw only the brilliant blue water and the pure possibility of catching the next big wave. Watching a child navigate the ocean without a single ounce of adult self-consciousness completely changed how I think about failure, mistakes, and the exhausting habit of taking ourselves way too seriously. Here is what a twelve-year-old taught me about getting back up when life tries to knock you flat.
The Contrast of Minds and Killing the Ego
The moment our feet hit the freezing Santa Monica water, the stark contrast between an adult brain and a child's mindset became painfully clear. My adult mind was instantly flooded with friction: calculating the temperature, worrying about whether my paddling form looked awkward, and bracing myself for the inevitable embarrassment of wiping out. Ryan, on the other hand, had zero ego tied to his performance. He didn't care who was watching from the beach, nor did he care if he looked cool. He just wanted to ride. The ocean doesn’t care about your job title, your bank account, or whether you have it all together on paper; the moment you try to protect your fragile adult ego in the water, a wave will happily knock you over and humble you. Learning to let go of that need to look polished is the very first step toward experiencing real joy.
The Anatomy of a Wipeout and the Freedom of Falling
I watched Ryan wipe out easily fifty times in two hours, and each time he surfaced, something remarkable happened. He wasn't checking the shore to see who noticed, his face wasn't burning with shame, and he certainly wasn't plotting a way to quit. He was laughing, sputtering salt water, and paddling right back out into the lineup. For a twelve-year-old, a fall isn't a permanent judgment of character or a failure of competence; it's simply the mandatory, unremarkable prelude to the next attempt. We spend so much of our adult lives paralyzed by the fear of messing up—whether it's a burnt dinner, a botched budget, or a failed project—that we forget falling is just part of the motion. When you stop tracking failure and start tracking the experience itself, the weight lifts instantly.
Flowing with the Current Instead of Fighting It
At one point, after I had swallowed half of the Pacific and felt completely defeated by a stubborn current, Ryan paddled over and said something that completely reframed my morning. He looked at me with bright, salty eyes and said, "The water is just water, Mom. It's not trying to hurt you, it's just moving. You just have to move with it." He was right. So many of us spend our lives fighting the waves of our daily routine, struggling against friction instead of learning to read the rhythm and move with the energy that is already there. Once I stopped white-knuckling my board and relaxed my shoulders, the paddling felt lighter, and the ocean stopped feeling like an adversary.
Bringing the Lesson Back to the Kitchen Table
So, how do we translate the salt and spray of a Malibu morning back into our chaotic everyday lives? We don't need to sign up for extreme sports to practice resilience, but we do need to give ourselves permission to mess up without a total internal meltdown. Whether it's a batch of dry meatloaf that missed the mark, a messy Tuesday night where dinner is just scrambled eggs, or a career pivot that feels terrifying, the secret is simply refusing to stay underwater. As long as you keep paddling back out toward what matters, the ride isn't over yet.
I’m Cathy. Let’s keep paddling.
Kitchen Tip: Next time a recipe or a day falls completely apart, don't let it ruin your rhythm. Take a breath, laugh off the mess, and remember that getting back up is where the real magic happens.
