I wanted to be able to share a harrowing story about
conquering fear. I wanted to tell everyone my aquatic rags to riches story, the
story of going from a non-swimmer to a scuba diver over the course of several
years. I had truly wanted that to be how the story played out. But, just
because something makes a beautiful narrative doesn’t mean it will come perfectly
to fruition. Life’s not like that.
This is instead a story of surrender for some and triumph
for others.
In 2010, lifejacket cinched and snorkel in place, I went
into the ocean off Koh Tao knowing full well that I’d never really learned to
swim and came out moments later in complete panic. Several attempts in calmer
water later and I was, well not happy and content in the water, but more
capable of being less panicked and enjoying the view of fish.
After several years, I have grown far more comfortable in
water. Sure I still hold my nose if I go underwater, but wearing fins doesn’t
feel quite so much like some sea monster is trying to drag me to a watery grave
and breathing through a snorkel was moderately less claustrophobic.
Surely that’s a good enough base to go for a SCUBA diving
course.
Armed with the knowledge of how far I’d come, I was ready to
give it a go. I assumed that, even if I wasn’t a perfectly strong swimmer, at
least the knowledge and know-how of taking a course, the technical information
about the equipment, and the guiding hand of a competent instructor in a small
group setting would readily combine to make for an easy, fun diving experience.
And it did. In the classroom.
We then went out on a boat, got all SCUBA suited up, leapt
into the water, and I learned several things about myself. The most relevant of which was this: I hate
being underwater. Everything about it felt unnatural.
After swimming into the shallow cove for our confined
introductory session, we started with some basics. But even the most basic of
the basics, such as breathing through the regulator facedown or sitting
underwater with no more than a foot of water overhead, were absolutely, excruciatingly
panic-inducing for me. Try as I might, and I did try, repeatedly, I just could
not force myself to stay underwater.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt the slow, suffocating grip
of panic winding its way around our ribcage, twisting its fingers around your
throat, but I’ll tell you this it’s not pleasant. Our instructor was kind and
encouraging. Win was patient and helpful. But it just wasn’t happening. Much
like my first time snorkeling, the day ended with me in tears, stress smoking
on a boat.
Now, to the dive school’s credit, they then offered to do a
one-on-one session to try again. Of course, to me this sounded like torture.
Especially because once you get past the being fine breathing underwater part,
you get to practice things like losing your breathy bit and taking off your
mask. It’s like a course that was built to make me cry.
So, I quit. As much as I hate to admit defeat, and as far as
I try to push my boundaries, I had reached my limit. I know I missed out on
seeing some beautiful things, and I hear that feeling weightless is incredible.
But a 4-day learning curve just wasn’t going to get me to that level of comfort
with being underwater.
And that is the story of how Win got SCUBA certified and I
spent two days reading on the beach.
