On 09/09/09, I stepped off a plane into the heavy heat of Managua, unaware my old life was ending. Divorced, drifting, and quietly addicted, I had been bouncing between apartments along Jacksonville’s beaches when an appraisal job introduced me to Frank, a Nicaraguan with deep political ties. After one exploratory surf trip with friends, I saw opportunity beyond the crowded southern Pacific and returned alone to build what would become GreenSurf. Staying in a worn-down quinta, sober and hyper-observant, I began constructing a surf camp business while absorbing a world of diplomats, lumberyards, and Spanish conversations I barely understood. The reset had begun.