The Journey into Advocacy

There is a moment that returns to me again and again.

It's early. The kind of early that belongs only to fishermen, surfers, seabirds and people searching for something they can't quite name.

The Mediterranean is almost flat. The sky hasn't decided on its colour yet. The shoreline is empty except for the soft rhythm of waves folding onto the sand.

Nothing extraordinary happens.

No dolphins appear on the horizon.

No dramatic sunrise breaks across the water.

No life-changing revelation arrives.

And yet, every time I stand there, I leave slightly different from how I arrived.

For years, I thought that feeling was simply peace.

Now I think it was something else.

I think the ocean was teaching me to pay attention.

The ocean has always been the constant.

Life has changed in ways I never expected.

I've built businesses, taken risks, navigated uncertainty, grief, celebrated wins, and experienced seasons where everything felt beautifully aligned—and others where nothing quite made sense.

Like many people, I spent years believing success looked like momentum.

Building.

Growing.

Achieving.

Always reaching the next milestone.

But whenever life became noisy, there was one place I returned to instinctively.

The water.

Not because it solved my problems.

Because it reminded me that not everything needed solving.

The sea carried on with quiet confidence, and that felt completely untouched by the urgency we so often create for ourselves.

Looking back, I realise those weren't escapes.

They were lessons.

"The ocean never asked me to become someone different. It simply reminded me who I already was."

I didn't set out to become an ocean advocate.

If you'd asked me ten years ago what I'd be doing today, this probably wouldn't have been my answer, but somehow I knew I had to be by the sea.

I wasn't following a carefully mapped-out career, and for a long long time, I didn’t know what my purpose was or who I was.

I didn't have a degree in marine biology - I still don’t!

I wasn't chasing a title.

Instead, I was building things, learning how to create opportunities from ideas, and discovering that entrepreneurship is really just another way of solving problems.

Those years taught me resilience.

They fueled my creativity.

They taught me how to build communities, communicate ideas, and keep moving when the outcome was so uncertain.

At the time, I thought those lessons belonged to business.

Now I understand they were preparing me for something much bigger.

Falling in love is one thing.

Learning to care is another.

For many of us, the ocean begins as a place.

A holiday.

A surf session.

A swim.

A memory from childhood.

We fall in love with how it makes us feel long before we understand what it actually is.

I certainly did.

The sea represented freedom long before I knew it regulated our climate and our minds.

It represented adventure before I understood the extraordinary biodiversity hidden beneath its surface.

It represented calm before I experienced my first dive and realised it was under increasing pressure from pollution, habitat loss, overfishing, warming waters, and changing ecosystems.

The more I learned, the harder it became to look at the ocean as scenery. I watched a documentary that I found equally beautiful as I did disturbing, the kind that makes you teary from beauty and sadness - Chasing Coral (on Netflix)

It became impossible not to see it as a living system that quietly supports every one of us.

The ocean produces much of the oxygen we breathe, absorbs enormous amounts of heat and carbon dioxide, and supports countless species and communities around the world. Yet so much of that work happens out of sight, beneath the surface, which is perhaps why it's so easy to overlook.

I realised that appreciation wasn't enough.

Understanding had to come next.

Education changed everything.

The turning point wasn't dramatic.

It wasn't one documentary.

One book.

One conversation.

It was hundreds of small moments.

Reading articles I barely understood at first.

Listening to marine biologists explain their work with infectious enthusiasm over instagram.

Following conservation projects endlessly.

Learning the names of species I'd spent years swimming alongside without recognising.

Understanding why seagrass matters.

Discovering that the Mediterranean, despite covering less than 1% of the world's ocean surface, is home to an extraordinary diversity of marine life while also facing significant environmental pressures.

The more I dived, the more I learned, the more I realised how much I didn't know.

And strangely, that felt exciting rather than intimidating.

Curiosity became the beginning of advocacy.

The stories we tell shape the future we create.

One thing kept standing out to me.

There are extraordinary people dedicating their lives to protecting our oceans.

Marine scientists.

Researchers.

Conservationists.

Local communities.

Divers.

Photographers.

Volunteers.

People restoring seagrass meadows.

Tracking sharks.

Monitoring sea turtle nests.

Cleaning coastlines before sunrise.

Yet outside their own circles, many of these stories remain largely unheard.

At the same time, the stories that do travel often rely on fear alone.

We need honesty about the challenges facing our oceans.

But we also need stories that inspire participation rather than paralysis.

Stories that remind people they have a place in this work, even if they've never worn a wetsuit or stepped on a boat.

That's where I realised I could contribute.

Not by pretending to be the expert.

But by becoming a translator.

Someone who helps bridge the gap between storytelling, impact, and everyday life.

Building a life around the ocean.

Today, everything I create grows from that same intention.

The Ocean Journal is where I write.

The High Tide is where I connect with a community each week.

The Water Women Podcast is where remarkable conversations will unfold.

Ocean Shop Jávea continues to evolve into a space that brings people together through products, education, and shared purpose.

Ocean Club is growing into a community of people who believe caring for the ocean isn't an occasional act, it's a way of living.

On the surface, these may seem like separate projects.

To me, they're all chapters of the same story.

Different ways of asking the same question:

How can we help more people build a meaningful relationship with the ocean?

Advocacy begins closer to home than we think.

When people hear the words ocean advocacy, they often imagine expeditions to Antarctica, scientific discoveries, or global campaigns.

Those things matter.

But advocacy also looks like learning the names of the species in your local bay.

Supporting ethical businesses.

Choosing reef-safe sunscreen.

Picking up litter during a morning walk.

Sharing a story that changes how someone sees the sea.

Asking questions.

Remaining curious.

Paying attention.

The truth is, very few of us will become marine biologists.

All of us can become better neighbours to the ocean.

This is only the beginning.

If there's one thing the sea has taught me, it's that meaningful change rarely happens all at once.

The coastline isn't shaped by a single wave.

It's shaped by thousands of tides returning, again and again.

Perhaps advocacy works the same way.

Not through one grand gesture.

But through consistent acts of curiosity, learning, conversation, and care.

That's the kind of work I want to spend my life doing.

If you're reading this, perhaps it's the kind of work you're already beginning too.

A Letter to You

Thank you for finding your way here.

Whether you've spent your life in the ocean or simply feel drawn to it from afar, I hope this journal becomes a place where curiosity grows into understanding, and understanding grows into action.

Continue the Journey

If this resonated with you, I'd love to invite you to join The High Tide, my weekly letter exploring conservation, ocean stories, coastal living, and hopeful ways we can all reconnect with our blue planet.

One thoughtful email.

Every Sunday.