Fear

I grew up in the water. My dad surfed, snorkeled, scuba dove, fished, and had a general love of the beach, the ocean, and the water. From swimming pools, to rivers, to lakes, to the ocean, I was as comfortable diving and swimming as I was walking from as far back as I can remember. I had no fear; I would jump into anything liquid like it was a part of my nature, like it was where I was supposed to be.  I would dive down to the bottom of the pool, run into the oncoming waves at the beach, and swim out as far as I could and into as deep water as I was allowed just because I could. 

And then I saw Jaws.

I was still little, maybe about four or five, but every pool I went in I would avoid the deep end like the plague, staying in the shallow end and peering out to where the blue got deeper and the floor dropped down to places unseen.  I would walk along the side of the pool and stare down into the eight or nine foot depths and while I could see the bottom, I swore to God that as soon as I swam into that part of the pool, a huge shark would pop out of the filter at the bottom and bite me into pieces.

I was too young to die, so…you know…fuck all that.

But I hated the shallow end.  It was boring, I couldn’t swim like I wanted to, I couldn’t dive as deep, I couldn’t just hang in the middle of all of that blue and pretend that I was flying or that I was weightless, I didn’t enjoy being in the water as much anymore.  And the shallow end was where all of the little kids peed.  So there was that too.

That one movie and the fear that it put into me ruined something that I enjoyed, something that I loved, something that I was born to do and a place that I was born to be.  This went on for a while and then I realized that I needed to take a chance, I needed to trust my senses, I needed to follow my instincts and my heart and be where I wanted to be.  After all, who has ever been eaten by a shark in a swimming pool?

I was too young not to live, so…you know…fuck all that.

So I swam into the deep end.  And I dove down.  And I grabbed the filter at the bottom of the pool and we made an agreement: You don’t let a shark out of there and I won’t poop in the pool.  And we’ve been true to that agreement to this day.

Somewhere around ten years later I was surfing on what was called “Big Wednesday,” when storms were more than doubling and tripling the normal size of the surf.  I was out with my cousin and was amazed at what I saw heading towards me as I waded out into the water towards what I was sure was certain glory and at the very least was a story I could tell people about how cool I was.  I struggled for about 45 minutes through wall after wall of water, getting pushed back and tossed around until finally I was able to breathlessly dive, kick, push, and paddle just behind where the waves were breaking and sit there for a few to catch my breath.  Just after I regained my strength, I saw it.  I was in the perfect spot and I flipped around and started paddling.  It caught up to me quickly and sucked me up towards the top, I could feel the push and new it was time to stand up and take my place at the top of the world. 

I pushed up and kicked my feet flat and solid underneath me.  As my legs extended upwards, the nose of my board buried itself in the water in front of me.  I was hit from behind and fell ten feet onto my board that was spit out below me.  The rest of the wave behind me rushed up to hug me in its cold blackness and spin me around.  I remember going through the cold tumbler and hitting my head on a rock half-buried in the sand.  The next thing I remember was opening my eyes on the shore with a mouth full of sand and salt water and ready to throw up from the ache in my head mixed with the realization that I had no idea how I was still alive.

I was too young to die, so…you know…fuck all that.

So I stopped surfing.  And once again, the thing that I loved, the place that I was born to be, the thing that cleared my head, a passion that centered me, this piece of me, this part of who I was…it went away.  Years went by and my board sat there.  I would drive by the ocean and stare at it and it would be there always and whisper back to me.  It would relax me.  It would apologize.

I was too young not to live, so…you know…fuck all that.

So I grabbed my board and paddled back out.  I felt the water surround me and hug me and welcome me back.  And I laid there in the sun, in the water’s embrace, and we made an agreement: You don’t hit me and I won’t leave.  We wrestle around here and there, gently, but when she’s mad I stay away.  It’s evolved into a give and take relationship which at the best of times I can take my place again at the top of the world.  Through the good and the bad, we’ve been true to that agreement to this day.

Fear is a funny thing; you never have it until you’ve been scared or hurt.  You can never be afraid unless you’ve lost something.  Children aren’t born with fear.  They are the first ones to stick their hands in the fire on the stove, stick a penny in a light socket because it is there, put a bug in their mouth because they like the way it crunches when they chew it.  They don’t understand what germs are, they don’t understand what pain is.  Children still have an innocence and purity about them that lends them to trust the world and the people in it.

Now here’s where the alcohol is starting to kick in, so bear with me on this one…there will be a point to all of this I think…

Love is one of fear’s biggest casualties.  When you give your heart, when you leave yourself that exposed, that open, and that honest, anything that scares you, anything that hurts you, anything that you lose in the process can leave you paralyzed and unable to take a chance, unable to take a risk again.  Once the innocence and purity is lost, only a scar remains.  Only protection remains.  Scar tissue fills wounds, feeling is lost to a certain extent and in certain cases when touched, can leave a weird feeling that can make the owner jump away with a shudder.  There is always a tender spot.  There is always an area that is favored.  There is always an area that is protected and held back.

But the bottom line is this: If you never take that chance, you’ll never know.  You may live the rest of your life and be completely fine.  You may live the rest of your life missing a piece of who you are.  You may live the rest of your life and always wonder what things could have been like if you had just taken that chance.  You may get hurt again, you may not…but chances are that you will live.

And I’m too young not to live, so…you know…fuck all that.

And so I still swim in the deep end.  And so I still paddle out and stand in those patient moments, at the top of the world and look down.  And so I give my heart, I leave myself that exposed, that open, and that honest.  And I do it because I am not going to live my life afraid.  I am not going to live my life looking backwards and wondering what could have been if I had just taken that chance.  I may get hurt again, I may not.  But I know that I’m going to live.

And I’m too young not to live, so…you know…fuck all that.