Before moving to New York, I had seen pool-party TVs scenes set in the Hamptons - (what I only understood as) a mysterious luxury beachfront vacation spot. As far as gorgeous beaches go, I’ve lived in coastal cities for a huge portion of my life, and have seen the sands of Bali and the Mediterranean. Simultaneously, I didn’t understand the point of leaving the city just to go to a fancy house with a nice pool; it seemed that there would much more adventurous locations to go to outside of New York.

I didn’t understand the appeal of the Hamptons. This skepticism stayed with me through my first night in the South Hamptons, on a autumn weekend retreat.

The cooled weather of autumn had bid farewell to all the tourists in the area, leaving locals to go about their business. In November, Hamptons Bay seemed like any other beachtown, outfitted with their “best clam chowder” restaurants and liquor stores with oversized bottles. Friendly locals greeted us at every encounter.

On day two, I’d found my way to the beach. Ponqugue Beach was only a 20 minute walk across the bridge from our retreat house. On a cool Saturday morning, a dozen surfers pulled up to the beach and set their sights on the ocean. A very wise man once told me that your career is like surfing, a lot of waves come and go, but all you are looking for is the one to carry you back to shore. Sometime when the morning turned into afternoon, as I surfers wrestled the waves as they came crashing into shore, I clued in to the charm of the Hamptons - a nestled beach getaway within reach of the bustling concrete city of New York. While I may not be organizing mansion pool parties anytime soon, I savored the fine sand of the beach, lush and cool against my bare feet.