Dear friends—

I went river surfing recently.

This was in Montana, in what are called “standing waves.”

That means the waves stay in one place, more or less.

You have to slide into them with your surfboard, paddle hard, and then pop up to surf.

***

There were two waves there.

I caught the first one fairly easily.

I’d stand and surf for anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes.

Eventually, I’d fall out, swim up river, catch my breath, and go again.

***

The second wave was bigger—and better, I thought.

Another surfer out on the water with me caught it over and over.

He carved the wave like a champion: squatting, leaping, cresting, falling, and catching it all over again.

I tried to copy his approach, but kept entering off-balance and falling out before I could even try to stand.

***

I decided to try approaching the second wave from its other side.

There was a large rock in the water there.

It blocked the current enough to create an eddy I could swim into.

Then I could crawl onto the rock, stand there with my surfboard, and try to dive-slide into the wave.

As I did, though, I noticed two things.

One, the other surfer had left.

Two, a group of 40 preschoolers in bright matching t-shirts now stood on shore, holding hands and watching me.

***

I did my best to impress the kids.

I dived in, paddled hard—and flipped out immediately.

I floated downriver, but fought the current and reentered the eddy.

Back on the rock, I looked up and saw the preschoolers watching me again.

***

Now I really concentrated.

I knelt carefully, gripped my board at what seemed the exact right angle, and focused on where I wanted to enter the wave.

I dived in, slid over, and tipped into the edge of the wave for a heartbeat.

Then I flipped and fell out again.

***

The third time I crawled up on the rock I was 100 percent determined.

I caught my breath and steadied my breathing.

I’d been out there for almost an hour, but felt strong and calm in body and mind.

I could do this.

I would do it.

I just had to commit.

For the kids.

***

As I leaned forward, I felt 40 three- and four-year-olds leaning forward with me.

For naught.

Because I fell out, floated downriver, and didn’t turn back to look at the wave again until I’d crawled out on shore.

***

The preschoolers were still there, still holding hands, when I joined them on the path.

Disappointed, I was sure.

I’d failed to catch the wave like the other, better surfer.

I’d embarrassed myself.

And I’d let them down.

I hung my head—and then one of their teachers called out to me.

“Thank you!! They loved watching you!!!” she said.

***

“Oh,” I said.

The kids weren’t judging my surfing.

Or if they were judging, their judgment was entirely positive.

They saw what I was doing—not what I wasn’t.

And what I was doing—wearing a superhero outfit wetsuit, holding a big pink floatie surfboard, swimming upriver, climbing up on a rock, jumping into a wave, getting carried away by the current, and then doing it again—was awesome.

***

What’s your version of river surfing?

Something new and challenging, a personal stretch—and yet something you want to be better at already?

Are you judging yourself?

Talking yourself down?

Frustrated, fed up, embarrassed, or mad?

If so…can you pass the mic to your inner preschooler—or inner wise elder?

What do they see you doing?

What’s the praise they want to give you?

Are you willing to hear their cheers?

***

I looked up.

“Who wants to touch a surfboard?” I offered.

A millisecond later, forty delighted, wide-eyed kids were squeezing foam and shaking my wet hands.

Waving—

Jeremy