Field notes from a first time hunter

Hello Reader,

The first time I kissed a boy was memorable in all the wrong ways. We were playing a game of tag and kiss in the schoolyard in Montreal. I was torn between hoping I wouldn’t get caught and hoping I would. A bunch of twelve-year-old looking for forbidden thrills. Wondering what the fuss was all about.

I accidentally bumped into Costa as we rounded the building, my hands grabbing his Lacoste sweatshirt, twisting the alligator, and we were it. My heart beat fast as his lips met mine, and a reverse Prince frog thing happened. His lips felt like a fish on the dock of a boat gasping for air. Slimy. Awkward. Wet. It put me off kissing for a long time.

There’s something thrilling about first times. They’re life’s buffet of experiences to sample, from salty, popping caviar (falling in love for the first time) to McDonald’s French fries (first hangover). When we’re doing something for the first time, we feel ALIVE, cheeks flushing, and scared.

We’re clueless beginners again.

And I want more of that feeling.

A couple of weeks ago, while in Bali, I felt that same thrill and terror. I wanted more first times, especially since I am smack dab in the middle of life, and felt called to learn how to surf.

For some reason, I had this romantic idea about surfing: flowing with grace and ease, being one with the sea.

Reality was different. I was paddling against the waves, getting plummeted, shaken like clothes in a spin cycle, sand making castles in my bikini bottoms, my body refusing to stand on the board as my surfing coach yelled, "GET UP".

I was scared. But I was also able to observe the fear in that moment. I asked myself, What am I afraid of?

The answer was simple: I didn’t know what would happen after I stood up. I’d never done this before. I was afraid of what I didn’t know; what was on the other side.

Yet, while on the surfboard with a wedgie, sputtering salt water, sand exfoliating my scalp, I felt alive and free.

Being able to see fear clearly showed me what keeps us on shore and how wading into the deep makes us come alive, especially when moving toward what we want.

I helped myself stand up by laughing at the situation, being kind to myself, and giving myself pep talks. I told myself it didn’t matter if I was good or not. I could take the time I needed and accepted my brain’s refusal to comply until finally, it did.

I sang “Take Me Home, Country Roads” with my surfing coach, the only song in English he knew, as the sun glittered on the waves, jellyfish lightly stung my thighs, and I squinted at the sky.

But this issue isn’t about surfing or sloppy kisses. It’s an invitation to create more first times.

If I look back, I can see what often blocked me from making big moves was the fear of not knowing - because what I was about to do was new and unknown.

Doing things that mattered for the first time, that scared me a little or a lot, left stretch marks, and brought me to places I could never have imagined.

First times are my biggest growth spurts and source of roller coaster drop thrills.

As we get older, first times become fewer and further in between. We get stuck in habits, known behaviors and patterns, settling into character traits, and “that’s just the way it is” stories.

Fear settles in like an ex on our couch popping Pringles, asking for the remote control.

No longer the side product of doing what scares us, fear becomes what keeps us from it. Shifty fucker.

We break its spell (and kick it out) when we become aware of it.

Often, fear appears when we’re about to leap into something new, something that holds real meaning for us, something we’d hate to fail at. It rears its head when we’re about to do something for the first time (that means we’re growing and learning, baby).

Fear can stop us in our tracks. It can make rational and persuasive arguments like Harvey from Suits. It keeps us in the known. But it also appears when we are doing that new first time thing, and we get a chance to overcome it by doing it anyway.

We practice building our muscle to enter the realm of the unknown again and again. Because one day, we’ll be facing a big Kahuna first time and we’ll have created evidence that we can trust ourselves and life to do it with fear in tow.

No matter how it turns out, you’ll feel alive, thrilled, and proud for doing the damn thing. At least that’s what I felt after standing/crouching on the board and surfing. It wasn’t elegant or poised, but it didn’t matter. I did it and I’m still beaming.

The more you practice, the more you say HELL YES to growth opportunities, you create a sense of freedom because fear isn’t stopping you, it’s showing you.

Narrating my audiobook was another first time. Reading the first chapter was an exercise in patience. I winced when I heard my voice, my fumbles and stumbles, and my slight lisp. I felt nervous, a bit scared, and apprehensive.

Something shifted when I got to chapter twelve. I started to appreciate the sound of my voice for the first time. I could hear how I improved. I got better because I allowed myself to suck. After all, it was my first time narrating an audiobook. The more I had fun with it, the better I sounded.

The audiobook officially launches next week, and I’d love to hear what you think of that first time (well, I re-recorded it many times over, but it’s still classified as a first time).

What could you do for the first time this week?

And how might you create a series of first times that build your capacity to be in the unknown, feeling slightly scared and very much alive? So when the seismic wave appears, you're ready to ride it?

Surf’s up.

Keep creating,