Thrive
2025 Word of the Year: Thrive
Four years ago, I made a life-changing decision. I was adrift after the third act of my career. (The first was Latitudes—adventure travel in Southeast Asia; the second, Entertaining Spaces—home automation and theaters; and the third, Feasty—a startup marketplace for chefs.) The pandemic was in full swing. I had no real work prospects, was burnt out on tech, and faced an uncertain future.
Like so many others, the pandemic hit me hard. I gained weight, lost motivation, and spent months holed up in my apartment, baking sourdough and watching construction crews dismantle the industrial warehouses between me and the waterfront. Amid the chaos, they were building a long-promised park—a hive of activity during lockdown that gave me something to watch other than doom scrolling on my phone and Tiger King.
During this time, I started paddle boarding as part of the 75-Hard challenge. It required two daily workouts, one outdoors. I tried running, hated it more than anything I’ve ever hated. Paddle boarding was peaceful, solitary, and set against the natural beauty of the bay. I had the waters to myself—befriending seals, clocking the tides, and mapping obstacles and routes. I was, without question, lord of my domain.
By September 2020, the park was complete, including a small beach, perfect for launching paddle boards, kayaks, and outriggers. The timing was perfect. I had become the de facto maven of the bay, so I decided to start a club to share my knowledge, connect people, and build a paddling community.
Dogpatch Paddle was born the day the park opened. Within weeks, the club grew to hundreds of members eager for an activity that was outdoors, socially distanced, and just social enough. But most people didn’t know where to begin. The club became a hive of information-sharing, with events, safety discussions, gear recommendations, and route planning. Along the way, people kept asking: What board should I buy? Where can I rent? Can you teach me? Lightbulb. I saw an opportunity.
At the same time, the Port of San Francisco announced an RFP (Request for Proposals) for a historic waterfront facility, Building 49, they hoped to convert into an aquatic recreation center right in the park. It was enormous—8,000 square feet right on the water. I ran the numbers and realized this could be the perfect home for a thriving business. I went all in.
I tested the waters (literally and figuratively) while waiting for the RFP. I bought boards, stored them in my apartment, built a website, and started offering lessons, rentals, and sales. Green light after green light appeared. I couldn’t keep up with demand. That first winter, I sold over 50 paddle boards. I posted spring break and summer youth camps before I even knew what they’d be, and they sold out. Parents were desperate to get their kids outdoors.
For the camps, the plan was to haul gear daily in a box truck. Then, by sheer luck, I snagged a vacant office space in my building. It was makeshift at best—gear rolled down the block daily on dollies—but it was an improvement. By summer, with friends’ tools and creativity, the Dogpatch Paddle Shop became a full-fledged surf-vibe retail space—a crazy addition to Dogpatch’s industrial-hipster aesthetic. And it worked.
Summer camps were a hit. The Port finally released the RFP, and I partnered with the YMCA to craft a winning proposal. Together, we secured the bid, setting the stage for something extraordinary. And then... reality set in.
Fast forward four years. Construction delays, permits, seismic upgrades, bureaucratic hurdles, and endless frustrations have slowed progress. What was supposed to take nine months has stretched to four years. Operating up the block was meant to be temporary. Doing it this long has tested my spirit, my wallet, and my optimism.
That said, I shouldn’t complain. The business has hobbled along, covering bills and affording me off-season travel. My community has been incredible—returning year after year for camps and dragging gear up and down the block. And now, at last, construction is nearly finished. I expect to get the keys next week, with final touches wrapping up for a February opening. Sigh. Exhale. What a journey. Enthusiasm is bubbling back. It’s time to finally build this into my original vision: a thriving hub for locals, tourists, kids, and adults to enjoy our little slice of paradise.
Each year, I choose a word to guide me. Past years were: 2021: Emerge. 2022: Growth. 2023: Nomad. 2024: Positive. Each served its purpose, steering me through the chaos, as a mantra, a theme, a nudge back on course when things derail. It’s a reminder that there’s a plan, even if the universe doesn’t seem to care.
For 2025, my word is Thrive. To thrive is to take the wheel, to see setbacks as speed bumps on the road to flourishing. It’s about growth, prosperity, and embracing the momentum I’ve built. Looking back on the past 4 years, I see the effectiveness: Emerging from COVID, growing a new venture, rediscovering nomadic passions, and staying positive through it all—these were the foundation. Now, it’s time to thrive.
So here’s to thriving in 2025: dedicating myself to this beautiful project, planning more adventures, cherishing time with Judah, and continuing to build an epic life with my community. Yes, these are tumultuous times. But we write our own stories. We shift the lens, turn the tide, and frame the universe however we choose. And I choose to thrive.
