Turning memories into stories

Tips and reflections about my solo surf trip and the story that followed.

My dreams for a solo trip to a surf camp in Costa Rica began in the months following the quick, merciful death of my husband to pancreatic cancer in 2017. Widowhood forced me to spend time with myself first to refill my reservoir of fearlessness and resolve, elements I knew I’d need if I were to leave my child and our home in the United States for an adventure in another country.

The right opportunity materialized itself last summer, when I turned 50 and decided to give the trip to myself as a birthday gift. I arrived at Witch’s Rock Surf Camp in Tamarindo in mid-August, knowing what I was after: relief from the weighty responsibilities of single parenthood, distance from places and people who kept me chained to my past and time to revive a part of me long buried under the life I built away from Brazil, forever the country under my skin. Months after I returned, I approached Billie Cohen, executive editor of the travel magazine AFAR, and pitched a story about resilience, reconnection and love — for myself, for the ocean and for the liberating sensation of feeling electrifyingly alive on top of a surfboard.

When conceiving a pitch, the biggest challenge is narrowly and specifically knowing what the story is about. A collection of memories isn’t a story. A chronological account of your activities isn’t a story. A story needs meaning. It needs resonance. And in the case of a travel story, it needs a throughline connecting the writer’s experiences to broader points, ones that will appeal to audiences even if they may not be particularly interested in the destination or type of travel you’re writing about. For my story, these broad points were the questions — and realizations — on grief, self-care, empowerment and social connections.  

It took three drafts to get there. I’m grateful for an editor and process that allowed me to refine my thoughts and the anecdotes and scenes I chose to illustrate them. I’m also grateful to myself for having the courage to go there, with “there” being both a physical place and that corner within where memories and emotions connect.

In the piece, I wrote —

As the Pacific Ocean came into view from my window seat, azure like a cloudless sky, excitement and self-doubt played a game of tug-of-war inside my chest. I took a deep breath and repeated an affirmation I’ve recited most mornings since losing my husband but finally had the courage to act on: I am allowed to put myself first.

Writing personal stories is an act of bravery. It’s stripping oneself bare, exposing vulnerabilities and, with that, claiming them as our power. I invite you to read my piece for AFAR. I hope it inspires you to reflect on the stories you tell and encourages you to pursue the experiences that bring you joy.

With love and purpose, always.

Fernanda.