No. Stop. Breathe.
I had forgotten what I was capable of.
I was really young when I learned how to Scuba dive. The minimum age for diving was 13, but somehow my dad and I convinced the divemaster to let me in the class — I was only 11.
I read the books and studied the colorful charts that the teacher pointed to in the dive shop. I learned about buoyancy compensators and decompression sickness. I learned the hand-signals. I was good to go.
After many weeks of class, we did our test dive in the pool at the YMCA. The first moment of being able to breathe underwater was mind-blowing, it was a whole new world that opened up for me. Each inhale was a revelation. I was mesmerized by the bubbles that danced up to the surface when I exhaled. It was not something they could have explained in the textbook. My breath became an absolute wonder.
I’ve always had ear problems - surgeries and tubes and constant ear aches when I was a kid. Now, when I get sick as an adult, the first sign is still an earache which always makes me feel like a preschooler. But back in that YMCA pool, as the dive master swam with me down to the deep end, my ears started to hurt from the pressure. He signaled for me to try to clear them, but it didn’t work. I panicked, forgot I could breathe underwater and tried to catapult myself up to the surface.
The dive master grabbed my arm.
He shook his head – No.
He put his palm up in front of my face – Stop.
He pointed to the regulator in my mouth, which was providing me oxygen – Breathe.
He made me just stay there for a moment. He locked eyes with me and my panic dissipated as I started to take smooth, long breaths. He signaled that I should try popping my ears again. This time it worked.
Fast forward a few decades — I was worrying about something the other day. Obsessing. Ruminating. Panicking. I was dizzy, my heart was pounding and I wanted to bolt to the surface. Suddenly, that dive master from so many years ago popped into my head, his bug-eyed mask was right in front of me again.
No.
Stop.
Breathe.
All I needed was right there, I had just forgotten that it was accessible. I forgot what a wonder my breath was and that I could just be present with it and watch the bubbles dance. I could just choose to be still.
I had forgotten what I was capable of.
