Diving was one of those things I’d always wanted to do…and I’m learning that a lot of those things “I’ve always wanted to do” actually terrify me on some level.
Or, you know, all levels.
I actually didn’t think I would be that terrified until I started the class with my dad several years ago. Reading about all the horrible things that can happen, the scary things, while under water trusting your lungs to a metal tank of compressed air strapped onto your back, well, freaked me out.
But, as someone wise told me this week, just because you’re afraid of something doesn’t mean you can’t do it. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t do it because of my fear–I guess that means I do have a small kernel of bravery wrapped up in my worry.
The first class was, well, to be redundant, quite scary. I didn’t expect to be so afraid and uncomfortable and panicky under that water! As a competitive swimmer for a big chunk of my life, as well as a certified lifeguard, so I’m confident in most water situations, and the fact that I wasn’t expecting to be scared made it even worse. I made it through the class, and was determined to dive in the ocean no matter what.
The first time I went diving, though, on Ko Tao in Thailand, I felt very little fear, which, again, surprised me.
I felt completely comfortable under the water.
The fear didn’t strike until two days later, when I was convinced I had the bends, earning me the nickname “Bendy” which will likely stick with me for the rest of my life.
Three years later, just several weeks ago, I was able to dive again in Cozumel. It was my first time diving with my father, who I had been certified with, and the first time diving with E, who was completing his Open Water certification. (My brother and his girlfriend were there, too). This time, I was more terrified than ever before.
Where does that come from? My fear of actually becoming a “Bendy?” I have more to lose, or I just realize I have more to lose? (I’m pretty sure that lovely realization comes with age. That’s my theory).
I was so anxious I couldn’t sleep (and who wants to be sleepless on vacation??? Unless it involves dancing the night away??). The next day, I could barely talk. I was much more nervous than E, who had never been diving before and who was recovering from a stomach bug.
Even though I was seized by this fear, I still put on the wetsuit. I still strapped on the BCD and put that regulator in my mouth. I had a tiny panic attack with my first breath, but I just kept breathing. And breathing. Just kept breathing that weird, dry air that was strapped to my back.
And every second of fear and discomfort was forgotten when I submerged in that alien world.
It wasn’t perfect, and I wasn’t immediately a superstar (which I had felt like in Thailand). I ran out of air before everyone, likely due to my nervousness, and I always had trouble equalizing my ears to the pressure. I’d get cold, I kicked things I shouldn’t have (like faces and coral), I had a foggy mask, my contact blurred. Once I got so freaked out I almost popped to the surface.
Yet, when I did a slow roll and saw the sparkly surface above me, or saw an immense eagle ray move powerfully by, I didn’t think about anything else.
The moral of this story is, fear can be a guidepost. It’s one of those tricky things we need to master during life: either to follow your fearful instincts or to defy them. Sometimes fear is the best warning system, sometimes it holds us back. Just another part that works so much better if it’s balanced. It’s a constant struggle for me, with my anxiety. To be really honest with you, there are days/weeks where I always feel afraid. But, like I’ve been told to do, I strap on that air and do it anyway, and that’s what matters.
And you know what? There’s a 99% chance it will be completely, totally worth it (and that 1% chance probably holds a lesson I really need to learn, even if it plain sucks).
{all photos courtesy of my father and his underwater camera! more to come :)}