How Kiteboarding and Adventure Helped Me Heal

Life has a way of shaking us, sometimes gently, sometimes like a storm.

Just over a month ago, I found myself at a crossroads. I had just been laid off from my job. Though part of me had anticipated it, and maybe even quietly wished for it, the reality still stung. I had loved the people I worked with and appreciated the freedom the job gave me. It allowed me to work from anywhere, even from a sailboat for three months. I could kiteboard between tasks, travel, and embrace flexibility in ways many people dream about. The pay wasn’t great, but the lifestyle it gave me was rich with adventure and freedom. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

Then, just two weeks ago, life dealt me a much heavier blow, I lost my uncle, my godfather. He had been fighting for a long time, yet his energy and love for life had always made him seem unstoppable. Watching someone so full of life slowly lose their battle to cancer is one of the most painful things one can ever experience.

As I grieved, everything began to unravel. I found myself spiraling, grieving my job, my direction, my sense of self. I began to question everything: What do I really want? Where am I going? Why does it all feel like it’s falling apart? My thoughts were racing, fears multiplying. Journaling didn’t help because I couldn’t find words. Meditation felt impossible as my head kept racing with negative thoughts. I was drowning in doubt, fear, and sadness. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely breathe.

One sleepless night, I checked the wind app, something I often do when I’m looking for signs. The forecast showed wind in the Keys. Without thinking twice, I packed my car with a foam mattress, a tent, and all my kite gear. I didn’t have a plan, just a feeling. I needed to move. I needed the wind to carry me somewhere else, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

The drive itself was healing. Music played, tears came and went, and with each mile, I felt a bit lighter. When I arrived and saw the palm trees swaying, the wind alive in the air, excitement surged through me. I found a cheap motel, tossed and turned in a bed that wasn’t mine, and slept little, but I felt something shifting.

The next morning, I went to one of my favorite kiteboarding spots: Curry Hammock. The process of getting ready, pumping the kite, running the lines, putting on sunscreen, was grounding. I hadn’t kited in a while, so I felt the usual nerves, but as soon as I hit the water, they vanished. The wind, the sun, the sea, they welcomed me back like an old friend. I felt free again, deeply connected, alive.

While walking to my car, I ran into a friend and and his friend came by, introduced himself, and invited me to join an 18-mile downwinder, a long kiteboarding ride with the wind just off the shoreline. I hesitated. I had never done one that long, and this wasn’t just 18 miles straight. The zig-zagging motion of a downwinder means covering almost double the distance. My body felt tired. My mind was still fragile. But something in me whispered, Do it. I wanted to push myself, to prove something, not to anyone else, but to me.

On the shuttle ride to the launch spot, the trip coordinator warned us about a 3-mile bridge. Strong currents, choppy waters, power lines. I felt my heart pound. I almost backed out. But I reminded myself: This is why you came. To feel fear and move through it. I had to step out of my comfort zone.

Once we launched, I felt the old familiar joy return. The turquoise waters shimmered beneath me. The wind was perfect. I was even leading the group at one point, filled with childlike joy, jumping higher with each gust. But then, we reached the bridge.

That’s when it all hit me.

The fear. The doubt. The fatigue. My body was already cramping. My kite was stalling. The current was challenging. My arms and legs were giving out. I panicked and hesitated to continue the journey. The others began pulling ahead, and I felt the crushing fear of being left behind, alone, near choppy wavy waters and power lines.

But then, one of the kiters stayed close to me and brought me comfort, knowing that I was not left alone. Something shifted. I caught my breath. I remembered the same voice I’d heard before the trip. You’ve got this. I changed the narrative in my head. I stopped telling myself I couldn’t. I reminded myself this was the hardest part, and I was halfway there.

With renewed focus, I kept going. And finally, I made it out of the choppy waters. I laughed, wild, relieved, grateful. I had made it. And the rest of the journey? It was beautiful. Exhausting, but beautiful. I kited through flat waters, soaking in the joy of just being out there, surrounded by nature, alive, at peace.

What I Learned

That downwinder was more than a kiteboarding experience. It was a reflection of my life. The fear, the fatigue, the urge to give up, it all mirrored my emotional journey through grief, uncertainty, and transition.

But here’s what I know:
The storm always passes.
The mind can be your anchor or your engine, depending on the story you tell yourself.
When I shifted from panic to presence, everything changed. Not the situation, but me.

The bridge, both literal and metaphorical, was the turning point. On the other side, I found not just calm water, but clarity.

The Power of Stepping Outside Your Comfort Zone

Growth doesn’t happen where it’s comfortable. It happens out in the middle of the current, when your legs are cramping, your arms are tired, and your heart is racing, but you keep going anyway.

It’s in those moments that you discover who you really are.

This experience taught me that our greatest strength often hides behind fear. That the most important conversations we have are the ones we have with ourselves. And that when everything feels like it’s falling apart, maybe it’s actually just falling into place.

So take the trip. Face the fear. Say yes even when you’re shaking. Let the wind guide you toward something new.

You’re not lost. You’re evolving.
And sometimes, that starts with simply showing up, trusting yourself, and letting go.

Living Fully, While We’re Here

We don’t get to stay here forever. Life is wild and unpredictable, and none of us knows how long we have. That’s why we must live fully, not someday, not when it’s convenient, but now.

Losing my uncle reminded me just how sacred this life is. It’s not about having it all figured out. It’s about showing up, taking the leap, feeling the wind on your face, and letting your soul breathe.

We are here temporarily.

So laugh louder. Love deeper. Say yes more.

Make memories you’ll feel in your bones.

If you’re waiting for a sign, this is it.

Live while you’re alive.

And above all, I’m so deeply, super grateful, for the people I’ve loved, the lessons life has taught me, the chance to feel it all, and the wind that keeps carrying me forward.