"I go down to Newport and Huntington a lot. It's more crowded than where I grew up on Phillip Island, but I think it's helped me adjust to life in America - getting into the water as much as I can"

The lines capture a strategy for belonging: carry a piece of home into a new landscape. Newport and Huntington are busier, noisier, more densely peopled than Phillip Island’s quieter coastline, yet that contrast becomes a tool rather than a barrier. By leaning into the crowds and choosing access over isolation, he frames the bustle of Southern California as training for the pace and density of American life.

The ocean is the constant that makes the adjustment possible. No matter the city, the swell, or the shoreline, salt water, currents, and repetition create a familiar rhythm. That continuity turns place into practice. “Getting into the water as much as I can” isn’t just recreation; it’s a ritual of self-maintenance, a way to keep identity intact amid change. Regular immersion resets mood, regulates stress, and imposes a bodily routine when everything else, work schedules, social expectations, cultural norms, feels variable.

There’s also a social dimension. Crowded beaches mean a living community: lineups, small talk, shared etiquette, and the unspoken rules of a subculture. Finding your spot in that flow helps translate foreignness into membership. The ocean becomes both sanctuary and meeting ground, a space where skill earns respect and conversation comes more easily than in industry rooms.

His outlook resists nostalgia. He acknowledges what’s lost, space, quiet, the ease of growing up somewhere, but refuses to romanticize it at the cost of growth. The emphasis on “as much as I can” suggests discipline and gratitude: seizing moments between obligations, choosing habits that keep him grounded rather than chasing novelty.

Adjustment, then, isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about building a bridge between origins and present life, using a familiar element to navigate unfamiliar structures. Water is the throughline, the portable home that turns a foreign coastline into a place to live, work, and belong.