WHEN I WAS IN THE NEW HOME CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY, back when there was a new home construction industry, I led a different life than I do now.

It wasn’t a life I had aspired to — more one that I’d wandered into. And, honestly, I was probably in a little over my head. But that industry was booming at the time, and as a result the companies in it shone a very bright light.

I worked a sales territory for one of those companies, James Hardie. Yes, James Hardie is an odd name for a company that makes building materials — but when you’re working for a firm like that you don’t really question such things. That would be seen as making waves. And the funny thing about working for a company like that — especially if you’re in sales — is that you’re expected to be among the biggest proponents of just about every single thing they do.

So you don’t ask why a company that makes siding has an individual’s name — you just go with it. And you don’t ask about the huge lawsuit they’ve just been hit with over hiding money from the victims of their products to whom they were supposed to be making restitution payments.

That’s just more waves.

When you work for a company like that, doing the job I did, you have to, as a coworker of mine used to say, “Drink the Kool-Aid.” That’s a term with an awful history that means, essentially, you have to believe in, and fully embrace, everything about the company.

Everything.

And if you know me, then you know I’m not so good at pretending to be what I’m not. You also know I like being around good people. And, for whatever reason, the Hardie employees in my area were some of the best. Maybe the company, despite its nefarious nature, hired honorable people — you know, to balance out the evil. Or maybe it was all sheer luck. Whatever the reason, I worked with some really good people there.

Sure, there were people at the company you wouldn’t trust further than you could throw them — but that’s true anywhere. Besides, they were mostly up the chain of command from us. They were the office politicians, the men and women who were good at “managing up” — and if you’re not familiar with that term, it refers to someone who’s more concerned with impressing the people above than managing those below.

But most of the men and women I worked alongside were good folks. There was this one guy I even spent some time off with. His name was Troy Kussmaul.

And Troy had borrowed my skateboard at one point. To return the favor he offered to take me snowboarding (and kind of show me how) in Tahoe. I said yes and we met there on a Friday afternoon.

I’d never been snowboarding before, but since the thing appeared to be like a big skateboard minus the wheels, I figured “How hard could it be?”

As it turned out, really hard.

As a skater, I know that skateboards go where you point them. To then go in a different direction, you point them in a different direction.

That is not so much true of snowboards. Here’s how I found that out:

I’ve been skiing before, and get the concept. I’m also fairly athletic — so I figured I’d leave the beginners run for, well, the real beginners. While it was technically true I’d never actually snowboarded, I felt I’d done things that were, in spirit, pretty much the same. So I started my first-ever snowboarding experience by heading down one of the advanced runs.

I know, that sounds like a really bad idea — now. But at the time I recall it making sense. Anyhow, I was headed down the mountain to meet Troy at an outdoor grill, where we were going to get some lunch. My trip down the slope proved to be mostly terrifying. As I pointed out earlier, a snowboard does not, like a skateboard, necessarily go where its nose is pointed. No, as far as I can divine, they go any damn where they please, any damn time they please.

What a weird design.

So I was headed down the slope and just about every time I tried to change direction I ended up on my ass — hard. I mean like every time. This went on for quite a while until I found myself down near the outdoor grill. I don’t know if it was the hunger that was pushing me, or just the relief of being close to the bottom, but something gave me a little shot of confidence to try a nice hard, carving, skateboard-style turn to slow down my descent.

Boy did that not work out.

As I leaned backward and started a sweeping left turn, things went awry pretty quickly.

I think in retrospect what was supposed to happen was, I should have dug the left edge of the board into the icy hard packed snow to get traction for my turn. Which is not remotely close to what actually happened.

I didn’t dig any edge of any thing into any other thing. I just leaned back — at a pretty good speed, mind you — as the board strapped to my feet slipped forcefully forward and upward, away from the icy snow and up into the icy air.

It was about then I landed — again — hard on my ass. But this time I threw in a bit of a twist, you know, for style. I banged my head really hard backward against the hard-packed, icy snow.

And here’s what happened then: I saw a big flash of light, I heard a high-pitched tone — and then, all slow-motiony-like, I drifted to a stop.

And here’s the weird part. The terror was all gone now. And the sunlight seemed a little bit brighter — and fuzzy, like it was out of focus. And I had this peaceful feeling inside my head, like things had never been better. So I stood up, brushed myself off and walked toward the grill to look for …

Look for …

Wow, it seems like I should be able to remember the name of that guy I came here with. I mean he and I work together at … at … well that company we work for, so it seems like I would know his name, right?

OK, well, first I’ll go get my burger and then I’ll look for him and figure out what’s going on.

At that point I picked up my board, took off my helmet, and walked over to the counter to order. The lady said, “What would you like?” I thought about that question for a minute. Then I thought about that question for another minute. Finally I said, “A burger.” “What would you like on it?” she asked.

That question really threw me.

I stood there and stared at her for what seemed like the same amount of time it took me to get all the way down the hill before I confided in her, honestly, “I don’t know.” She said something about not worrying (I wasn’t worried) and that she’d fix one up for me.

It was a little later, as I was sitting on a bench eating my burger, that a song came over the speakers. It was “Blinded by the Light.” You know, the one written by Bruce Springsteen — but it wasn’t his version. It was the lesser version that had been a hit for Manfred Mann. And as I sat there listening to it, it made me happy. Really happy. I just had this peaceful, happy feeling that everything was all right. And that it always had been. And man is this weird burger delicious.

And where is … where is … you know, that guy.

It was about a half an hour later that I finally found Troy. Which was fine, because it took me about that long to remember his name. And it was so odd how, about the same time I remembered Troy’s name, the world started seeming less shiny than it had earlier.

So just about everybody I’ve ever described that day to says the same thing: concussion. Which, I guess, means the euphoria was just whatever chemicals the brain releases when it gets whacked that hard.

Well, maybe — but here’s how I remember it: I really enjoyed that lunch. I also now have an inexplicably warm place in my heart for “Blinded by the Light” by Manfred Mann (which just ain’t that great a song).

I also have a little analogy that occurred to me just now:

I’m a skateboarder — not a snowboarder — and working for a company like James Hardie was, to me, not my strong suit. It was something I wasn’t all that comfortable with.

It was one of those times in life where I’d done something for the wrong reason (in that case for the good income), thinking it was the right reason. But here’s the right reason to do things: Because they’re good for you and because they make you happy. And though I’ve banged my head a time or two, I can still see that.

Who knows, maybe that’s why I now see that …

John P. Gavin is the author of “Online Dating Sucks … But It’s How I Fell In Love,” which is available on Amazon and at Bookshop Benicia.