In my typical fashion, I rolled into the surf shop all hot and cocky, laying it on thick about how I expected to be pro by the end of the day.

I told the girl who took my waiver to consider keeping it; my autograph would be valuable here shortly.

"Where's my film crew?" I asked the person storing my stuff.

And when my instructor, "Wave Daddy," took me to get a board, I told him straight that I was ready for Burkhart's board.

But, while I was talking all this smack, I was secretly preparing to eat sand all morning since that had been my experience the only other time I'd tried to surf back in North Carolina.

And I was a little worried about Tiger Sharks.

Although as we waded into the water, my worry over sharks evaporated as I realized the big-ass rocks were the more likely peril.

"Do not come off the board head first," Wave Daddy said, "you'll break your neck out here."

Noted.

Out in the waves, he asked about my dominant foot.

"On a skateboard, Onewheel, or snowboard, I ride regularly."

"Left foot forward?"

"Yes."

"OK, let's try that."

He held the board for me so I could pop up with it stationary, then gave me a shove as a wave approached.

I made it about 10 feet before I fell, quadrupling my previous record.

Stardome, fame, and fortune, here I come!

But when I got back out to Wave Daddy, he said I was doing it all wrong.

"I think you're goofy, man."

Goofy, if you don't know, is a non-derogatory description for someone who rides a board with their right foot forward.

"No way, man, I can barely stand goofy on my Onewheel!"

"Well, you're gonna try it."

So, fumbling and bumbling, and with a lot of help, I climbed up on the board with my right foot forward.

The wave came, he gave me a shove, and I promptly ate shit.

"See, man, I told you!"

"Nah, you're goofy, brah. Do it again."

And so it went for about ten times.

But each time, I got further and further. And then a strange thing happened. I struggled to pop up goofy-footed, but I could ride the wave way better that way.

"OK, now switch back."

"What? No way, man, I'm just getting used to this!"

But I knew there was no use.

Wave Daddy has a method.

We were an hour in at this point, and he was no longer helping me stand up or pushing me off. He'd pick the wave, tell me to start paddling and holler when to pop up.

"Remember, back to left foot front," he said as the wave approached.

"Paddle, paddle! Up! Up!"

I popped up with my left foot forward and ate shit just as fast as the first time I'd popped up goofy.

"Brah! You're ambidextrous! You're gonna be able to ride both ways! So cool!"

Now, I thought he was completely crazy.

Like, I'd just gotten used to riding "backward," and now he's turning me back forward, and it feels as wonky as backward felt earlier.

For the next 30 minutes, he had me switching back and forth.

Then he said, "OK, bro, you're ready. This time, you'll switch while you ride the wave."

I told you, he's crazy.

Still, by now, I trusted him.

"Paddle hard. . .up! Up!"

I popped up goofy, rode for 50 yards or so, and then. . .

Bam!

I jumped up, rotated 180 degrees, landed back on the board, and, though I stumbled, I held on and rode out the wave.

"I told you I'd be a pro today, brah! Bring on the film crew!"

Now, you might think the moral of this story is that it's good to get outside of your comfort zone.

And you'd be partially right - a lot of growth happens when you step out.

But the real moral of this story, boys and girls, is that you can never have too much storage space.

I have to call my wife later today to see if surfboards qualify as wall art.

Because I'm going to have to store a few of them somewhere.