How I Learned to Surf with My Four Daughters

You know how people say, “Life begins outside your comfort zone?” Well, I used to nod along politely, usually while sipping coffee and planning our next safe little family trip. Beaches, yes. Mountains, of course. But surfing? No way. That was for tanned teenagers with six-packs and zero responsibilities. Like we all do from time to time.

But then one day, I stumbled across this photo from a beach trip we took to Portugal a few years back. My four daughters and I were standing on the sand — sunburned, grinning, wind in our hair — and it hit me like a rogue wave: We should learn to surf. Or at least try to...

I don’t know why the idea stuck. Maybe it was that midlife craving to do something bold. Maybe I just wanted a challenge that didn’t involve emails, meetings, or packing school lunches. Or maybe I just wanted to share an adventure with my girls — something messy, wild, real. And something matching our family mood!

So, I pitched the idea over dinner.

The reactions were immediate and mixed:

The youngest (6 at the time) shouted, “Yes! Like Moana!”

My 9-year-old asked if she could ride a dolphin instead.

The 12-year-old looked skeptical but intrigued.

My oldest (14 going on 35) raised an eyebrow and said, “Do we have to wear rash guards? Those are ugly.”

Perfect. We were in.

Destination: Costa Rica

We booked a week at a surf school in a sleepy little beach town in Costa Rica. I figured if we were going to get thrown into the deep end (literally), we might as well do it somewhere with warm water, tacos, and monkeys in the trees.

From the second we arrived, I knew we were out of our element. Our instructors were these laid-back surf gods — tanned, barefoot, and always laughing. Meanwhile, we looked like confused penguins waddling around with oversized boards.

Our first attempt at paddling out was... comical. My youngest got scared of a floating leaf and started crying. One daughter got hit in the head with her own board. I swallowed half the ocean and started questioning all my life choices. And that was just the first ten minutes..

Learning Curve (or Wipeout Curve)

Let me tell you something they don’t mention in the brochures: surfing is hard. Like, whole-body-exhaustion, sand-in-places-you-didn’t-know-existed hard. It’s not just about standing up on the board — it’s about timing, patience, reading waves, and being okay with falling on your face again and again and again.

We fell. A lot. One of my daughters slipped, landed butt-first on her board, and started laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. I got stuck in the whitewash and flopped around like a dying seal while my kids screamed, “DAD, ARE YOU OKAY?”

But you know what? Slowly, it started to click.

Tiny Wins That Felt Huge

The first time my youngest stood up for more than two seconds, the beach erupted. I swear, even the instructor got teary-eyed. She looked so proud, so unstoppable. My 9-year-old followed a few minutes later, beaming from ear to ear.

My middle two bonded over wipeouts and inside jokes. They started helping each other — yelling “PADDLE! PADDLE!!!!” like seasoned pros and high-fiving every time someone made it to their feet.

And me? Well, I got up too. Eventually. For about 3.5 glorious seconds. It felt like flying.

Unexpected Moments

Beyond the surfing, it was the little things that made the trip unforgettable.

There was the morning we all woke up early (without alarms!) to catch the sunrise over the ocean, sitting quietly on our boards, watching the world wake up. No screens. No noise. Just us. It was magic!

There was a night when the power went out at dinner and we ate grilled fish by candlelight, taking turns telling our favorite fail of the day (mine was when I face-planted into a wave and accidentally mooned a group of very amused locals).

There was the local surf instructor who took a special liking to my daughters and taught them not just how to ride waves but how to respect the ocean — to listen, to feel, to be patient.

What Surfing Gave Us

We didn’t leave Costa Rica as expert surfers. Far from it. But we left stronger. Closer. Changed.

Surfing taught my daughters — and me — how to fall and get back up. How to laugh at yourself. How to cheer for each other. How to be okay with not being perfect at something, but showing up anyway.

It gave us a new language. Now, “wipeout” isn’t just about falling — it’s about trying. “Paddle hard” means give it your all. “Let the wave pass” means it’s okay to wait for the right moment.

And it gave us memories. Stories that will live in our family lore forever. Like the time our boards got tangled and we all fell in a heap, laughing underwater. Or when we rode our first wave all together, side by side, arms out, yelling with joy.

Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely. In fact, we have. Since that first trip, we’ve surfed in California, France (Northen part), and Bali. Each time, we’re a little better. A little braver. A little more “us.”

So if you’re ever sitting at home, scrolling through old pictures, wondering what the next big family adventure should be — I highly recommend grabbing a surfboard, jumping in with both feet, and riding the wave with your kids.

It might not be smooth. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it.

And you’ll have one hell of a story to tell.