I simplified my mantra to “Jessie,” since her wave riding captured all those reminders. To my surprise, I caught the very next wave and made it halfway to shore. I had stopped thinking and was — actually — in the moment. As Jessie put it to me: “There’s an element of risk each time you get up because there’s always a chance that you’ll fall. But do you have the trust, the willingness to take the leap when you don’t know the specified conditions each time?”

Watching my niece, I noticed something else. Jess kept her eye on the prize, which on the board means looking straight ahead to the shore. I realized that even when I did pop up properly, my focus often wandered to the left or right and I’d quickly tumble off the board. “Look straight ahead,” my instructor shouted over the breaking surf. He kept reminding me not to get sidetracked. I couldn’t help but think of the many times distraction had undermined me, personally and professionally, by tempting my focus away from the goal.

In 21 years, Jess has learned many things, but I do have a few decades of experience on her. My siblings and I have lived through some difficult times and have gotten a bit too familiar with illness, disability, death and fear. In the years since I’d last surfed, I had watched my aged parents fall and hurt themselves many times, and I’d developed a fear of falling. My brother and sister-in-law had also faced their own trials over those years, notably raising their son who has autism, who is both lovable and a huge challenge.

Mr. Farmer, who’s surfed since he was in third grade, admitted to some fears of his own, but was philosophical about them. “Don’t let fear get in the way of living your dreams. It will handicap you,” he said. “Usually fear holds you back and creates anxiety. You should pretty much ignore it” — although he quickly pointed out he wasn’t encouraging me to be a daredevil and ride a giant wave beyond my ability.

“But what do I do when I tumble?” I asked.

“Fall flat,” he advised, which would keep me from getting scraped by any lava rocks. “Don’t dive head first. And be as graceful as you can.” (With a beachside photographer capturing every fall, I tried for grace, but I laughed when I looked at the photos.)

When it came time for the last wave, I deployed all of my surfing mentor’s advice, as well as my own experience. I popped up. I did a “Jessie” and caught the wave, surfing it all the way to the shore. Exhilarating. And then I fell — flat — since I didn’t know any other way to get off the board.

My brother’s wife, who witnessed this magnificent ride, had the last word of the morning after my head bobbed up from underneath the surf: “The next step after falling,” she said — learned as much from her life experience as from times on the board — “is getting up again.”

And again.

Steven Petrow, a Hillsborough, N.C., writer, is a regular contributor to Well.