“YOU ARE SO LUCKY. How do I get a job like yours and do what you do?”
That’s a question I get asked all the time. I get emails like that nearly every week.
And I’m always a bit hesitant in how I respond—because the truth is, I don’t really know. I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here, doing what I do for a living.
But if there’s one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it’s this… LUCK, had nothing to do with it.
"Editing and laundry—hotel floor edition. The behind-the-scenes hustle never stops."
When I step back and look at what I do—and what I get to do—I’ll admit, it’s pretty exciting and fun.
But what people don’t see are the years, the countless hours, and the behind-the-scenes hustle it took to make this life work.
I get emails all the time from people asking to intern or work with me. And honestly, I think it’s cool that they’re reaching out. But most of them don’t really know what it is we actually do. They’re under the illusion that I spend all my time on or in the water.
They want to shadow me, learn about shark behavior—and more specifically, they want to learn how to feed sharks.
But what most don’t realize is that I spend about 75% of my time at a desk. Behind a computer. Writing, editing, marketing, responding to emails. It goes on and on. Sometimes 10–12 hours a day… every day.
When I think about it, why would anyone know that part? I don’t exactly post about it. What ends up on the website or on social media is the excitement—the life of a professional shark diver. You see us out there, playing with sharks, swimming with orcas, photographing polar bears.
That’s what you’re supposed to see. Not the boring stuff—me sitting at a computer for 12 hours straight, editing a video or updating social posts.
So… how did I get here?
Again, I’m not really sure. It’s all kind of blurred into one long, wild adventure.
I’ve never really had an official job title either. I guess if I had to write it down, it would look something like:
Professional Shark Diver / TV Host / Photographer / Dive Guide / Teacher / Magazine Editor / Storyteller / Marketing Rep / Toilet Scrubber / Mail Boy.
I wear a lot of hats here at SDM—and I genuinely love every part of what I do.
Except the toilets. Don’t really love that crap (no pun intended).
We’ve been in business for 13 years, and it took a very long time to get to where we are today.
There were so many nights I’d lie awake, trying to figure out how to keep things going.
We weren’t making it. I’d ask myself:
Why am I doing this?
Why am I still trying to publish this magazine?
How am I going to pay for this boat charter?
But somehow… it worked.
We made it.
And quitting? That was never an option.
Even when I questioned it.
Even when it would’ve been easier.
Because I don’t really know how to quit.
That part of me—the drive, the determination—it all stems from my bull riding days.
When I was riding bulls, I wanted to be great. So I trained hard. Like, really hard.
I didn’t have natural talent, and I didn’t have a coach. I had to be both student and teacher, and gut it out the hard way.
To be a great bull rider, you have to keep your feet in the fire—all the time.
There’s one story I always remember:
I was at a practice buck-out, riding a bull, and I got thrown off after just a few seconds. I landed face-first in the dirt. A second later, the bull stepped on the back of my neck and shoved my face even deeper into the ground.
Luckily, the arena had just been plowed, so the dirt was soft. In a weird way, it kind of acted like an airbag—an airbag filled with bullshit.
I got up, did a quick damage check.
My neck hurt like hell—red, raw, and missing some skin. My face was sore and completely caked in dirt. A little blood in my nose, but nothing broken.
And I was furious. Not from the pain—but because I bucked off.
I grabbed my rope, dusted some of the dirt off my face, and threw my rope on the next bull in the chute. I was ready to ride again.
Everyone around me was telling me to take a break, to catch my breath. They wanted to make sure I was okay.
But I didn’t want to wait. I was okay.
Physically, at least. My pride was bruised, sure… but that failure lit a fire in me.
I was more determined than ever, and I wanted to channel that negative energy into the next ride.
So I did.
And that’s still how I live and work to this day:
I take the sting of failure and turn it into fuel.
That grit inside me—that’s what drives me.
It’s what’s kept me on this journey and allowed me to live this life and do what I do.
It took a lot of work to get here. And I guess if I can do it… anyone can.
Anyone can become… whatever it is that they want to become.
But it does come with a price.
Long hours.
Rough seas.
Freezing oceans.
Shitty travel days.
And so many missed family moments you’ll never get back. That’s one of my biggest regrets in life.
But the highs… the highs make it all worth it.
Those magical moments you carry with you forever—
Sunsets that you will never forget.
New friends from around the world.
Landscapes so beautiful they don’t seem real.
And the privilege of sharing time with some of nature’s most incredible animals—both big and small.
I’ll finish this rant with this:
This life is amazing—and it’s worth everything you’re willing to put into it.
If you want to work with sharks, then chase that dream.
Find a way to make them your life.
But know this:
You’ve got to be willing to do the work.
To make the sacrifices.
You can’t give up when things get hard—because they will get hard.
You just need to find your own kind of grit.
Wishing you the best of luck...
Even though, in the end…luck has nothing to do with it.