My happiest childhood memories didn’t happen in classrooms or playgrounds.
They happened by the sea.
I grew up in a small village called Grayshott in the south of England — the kind of place with one of everything: a pub, a church, a hairdresser, quiet roads and familiar faces. But whenever the weather softened — not hot, just warm enough — my mum would pack a picnic, load the car, and we’d drive the hour down to Bracklesham Bay.
Those trips felt like oxygen.
During summer holidays we stayed at a beachfront house called Fairhaven, right on the sand. Big groups of family and friends. BBQs that lasted all afternoon. Ice creams from the truck. Endless hours building sandcastles, walking barefoot, watching the tide come and go.
Something in me settled there.
I was calmer by the ocean. More present. Less angry.
The sea softened something that inland life seemed to tighten.
Even when we didn’t stay overnight, Mum would invite friends and family for day trips — disposable BBQs in the open fields, hundreds of people spilling toward the beach. Those days planted something deep inside me, though I didn’t know it yet.
Whenever I return to the ocean, it still feels like coming home. That gift came from my mum. She didn’t just take me to the beach — she gave me a relationship with it. One that would quietly guide my entire life. The ocean never really left me. At 22, one of my first real jobs was as a fitness instructor on a cruise ship — the Saga Rose and later the Saga Ruby. Each morning I led “Walk a Mile” around the deck as the sun rose over open water. That rhythm — movement, horizon, stillness — felt natural.
From there, life carried me to Dubai, where my apartment was five minutes from Jumeirah Beach. I spent most of my free time there, drawn again and again to the shoreline. Then came Thailand.
I arrived in Phuket at 27, living fast, riding shirtless on my girlfriend’s motorbike, filling petrol tanks with one-baht coins, completely unconcerned about sustainability. High season was abundance. Low season was scarcity. Eventually reality caught up with me. I moved to Bangkok with almost nothing — arriving by bus because flights were too expensive. I had an interview with an English guy for a personal training job. I got it on the spot. My first client was at 6:30am the next morning.
Life began there.
I built roots in the city. Eight years of stories that deserve their own chapter. But even then, the sea was never far. Every chance I got, I escaped to the islands — Koh Samet, Koh Chang, Koh Kood, Koh Mak, Koh Samui. The Gulf of Thailand became my refuge.
In 2019, two moments changed everything.The first was Koh Lanta. I travelled there for New Year with close friends — Dr Cherie, Michael, Lynnie, Galina and Henk. Dr Cherie, the “mother of coaching,” had founded one of the oldest coaching institutions in the world. Conversations flowed deeply and easily. I felt something awaken.
I enrolled in their coaching training shortly after. Coaching didn’t give me something new — it gave structure to something I already had. The ability to ask powerful questions. To help people move from where they were to where they wanted to be. On that same trip, walking the beach with coffee in hand, sailboats passed slowly across the horizon. And a thought surfaced:
Coaching… sailing… who has ever combined those? My mind exploded with possibility. I also noticed something else. My creativity was sharper. My thoughts clearer. My nervous system calmer. The blue sky, the turquoise water, the horizontal horizon, the sound of waves — it all put me into a meditative state without trying.
I realized something fundamental: The environment you ask questions in matters.
That insight became a calling.
Then COVID hit.
Days before Bangkok locked down, I spoke to my mum on video. She was adamant: Get out of the city. Go to the beach.
I trusted her.
Within 24 hours, a friend and I left Bangkok and drove through checkpoints to a remote beach house in Huay Yang, south of Hua Hin. No crowds. No noise. Just sea, sunrises, fishing, workouts on the sand, and stillness — while the rest of the world panicked.
I stayed two months. Going back to Bangkok felt wrong. Even when I eventually returned, something in me had shifted. Then came yoga. Almost by accident, I attended a class at a small gym near my condo. One pose — Pyramid Pose — released something deep in my body. And as I walked out, I said out loud:
“I will become a yoga teacher.”
Within weeks, a course appeared. I trusted the pull again. I didn’t even know the names of the poses. But I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. Yoga became the final piece. Coaching. Movement. Stillness. Environment. All pointing back to the ocean. In 2023, I completed my International Yacht Training in Phuket. Nine people. One shared dream. Sunrise yoga on deck. Salt air. Freedom.
The path was no longer theoretical. It was real. My mum understood something long before I did. I didn’t speak until I was three. I had dyslexia, dyspraxia, learning difficulties, and a challenging home environment. The ocean calmed me. It regulated my emotions. It gave me space.
And she never let me say, “I don’t know.” In our house, that phrase wasn’t allowed. “You do know,” she’d say. That belief planted the seed that I already carry the answers inside me.
Sea Beyond is named for her.
For the sea that raised me.
For the belief that carried me.
For the idea that life can always be lived beyond current circumstances.
Beyond limiting beliefs. Beyond where you are now. This isn’t the end of the story. It’s the moment you step aboard.
Sea Beyond
