Scaring yourself silly

Have you heard that old adage, “Do one thing every day that scares you”? I’ve read it a thousand times and always agreed with it wholeheartedly, without ever really thinking about what it meant.  Today, I was shown the true value of this saying.

The day started out on a sailboat at anchor in a little bay on an island a few miles off the southern coast of France. We weren’t too far from land, so I strapped on my snorkel and mask, jumped in the water, and headed for shore. As I meandered through the waves, scouting the landscape for interesting plants and colorful sea life, I came across an octopus waving its tentacles in an elegant dance. Upon seeing me, it quickly lowered itself down and tried to hide in the grassy sea floor. If I hadn’t caught it in the act, I surely would not have noticed its’ googly eyes peering out at me from the algae as I swam over it. I hovered above the octopus-in-hiding, waving my arms to try to scare it into dancing for me again. But the googly eyes just blinked at me from that big, bulbous head, tentacles tucked underneath; unmoving, it did its best to blend in with the surroundings. Although I wanted to swim down to get a closer look, I kept my distance for fear it would spray me with its secret inky weapon, or worse, strangle me with all eight of its scary, slimy limbs. (I have an irrational fear of octopus; something about those suction cups freak me out!) 

Once ashore, I made my way down the beach past the tanning tourists and up the hill to the abandoned fort on top. I climbed around the crumbling structure, inspecting the walls built into the rock, hoping to find some secret passageway – perhaps leading to a vault full of treasure? I found no such thing, so I gave up poking around and wandered over to the far side of the hill for a better view of the bay. From here, I could see down into a cute little cove below, sheltered from the bay with big beautiful rocks rising up from the achingly aquamarine water. I knew I had to get down there somehow; I absolutely needed to explore that cove and swim in that crystal clear oasis! I slung my snorkel over my shoulder like a purse and began picking my way down the rocky ravine, wincing from the pain of sharp stones digging into my bare feet. As I ouched and ahh-ed my way towards the water, I contended with the fact that I might not be able to find a safe place to slide into that dreamy blue lagoon once I reached the bottom of the incline. If the boulders were too big or the jump down too dangerous because of submerged rocks below, I would simple have to give up, turn around, and wince my way back up the mountainside to the fort on the hill. I took my chances and kept going.

I was finally just a body length away from the water. Ecstatically and optimistically, I surveyed the scene to determine my best point of entry. The water looked so enticing, but I could also see slippery rocks and a collection of jagged driftwood lying dangerously just below where I stood. Only one giant boulder stone in between myself and my swim, and if only I could get onto it, I would be home free. The problem was, it was just a bit too far for my short legs to reach. I stretched each one of my limbs in turn, trying to elongate and contort my body, but it just wasn’t happening. My only option at this point, besides the unfortunate alternative of turning around, was to free climb my way horizontally across a jagged rock face providing the only link between myself and the boulder.

Now, anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I am no rock climber. In fact, I dislike heights very much and I think it’s inane to climb rock walls for no other reason than getting to the top. Maybe if there was a bear chasing me, or a very fine feast awaiting at the summit, I would be interested in shimmying up rock faces; without those incentives, I’m not game. I quite like to have earth beneath me, rather than empty airspace. Call me crazy. So, with all of those reservations swirling around my head, I decided to tackle the task at hand.

I didn’t have so far to go, but it was just enough that it required several thoughtful maneuverings and well-placed footings to make it to the safety of the boulder. At first, I would reach out one hand and one foot, steadying myself and feeling around to acquaint myself with the rock face. Then, I would freak myself out and retreat back to my starting position to gather my strength once again. Each time I reached out to try again, I would get a bit farther; I’d figure out another way to place my feet or find a new craggy nook to clutch desperately. My knuckles shone white as they clutched the rock for dear life and my knees quaked furiously beneath me. Step by tiny step, I tiptoed my way across, my heart in my throat.

It might have only lasted a few short minutes. I have no idea. Time seemed to stand still as I fought the grasp of fear in my mind, trying desperately to ignore that voice telling me I was going to fall from the rock and crack my skull open. I didn’t realize how hard my heart was pounding until my right foot finally found the big, strong boulder I was aiming for and I was able to sit down to catch my breath at last. As I regained my calm and took account of my body and my senses – only then did I realize that I wasn’t breathing and my heart was beating so violently that it was threatening to bound out of my body and into the salty waves below. 

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt such an intense sensation of visceral fear.  As I took in the beauty of my surroundings, I smiled to find that fear melt away, exposing a complete sense of satisfaction, accomplishment, and sheer contentment.  I looked up from where I was sitting, safe and sound atop my rocky throne, to the top of the ravine where I had started my steep descent. I examined how far I had to free climb on that rock face to make it to where I was now sitting. It didn’t seem so bad anymore, but I knew the effort, the will, the raw strength it had taken to make that short traversal. I began to understand that infectious high that pro athletes talk about when they fight and finally succeed in overcoming their inner fear, the wall, “the beast.” It is indeed a rewarding and irresistible feeling, to have conquered such a nasty demon as fear. You get a little taste, and you want more.

With a big, silly smile pasted on my face and a residual buzz coursing through my body, I secured my mask and dove into the crystal cool water. Finally, I got my reward. That first second, when your face hits the water and you’re suddenly privy to a whole crazy world of secret wonders below the surface – that moment is pure magic. I spent the rest of the afternoon moseying along the crooked shoreline, exploring rock caves and diving down to scatter schools of fish like a child running wildly to scatter pigeons congregating on the playground. 

There was a smattering of rocky outliers all around me and, of course, I had to explore.  In between rocks, the ground would drop from beneath me and I would find myself bobbing on the surface of the water, like a fly caught in a wine glass. The speed of my stroke would quicken, for fear of scary sea creatures emerging from the dark bottomless ocean.  As I reached my destination, my arms and legs would slow down from a frantic kick to a more leisurely canter. I found comfort in the fish milling about and the sea grass tickling my body as I absorbed the changing seascapes all around me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon this way, swimming hard for a spell and then taking my time to explore new territory. Every so often, I would poke my head out of the water to make sure our little white sailboat was still within sight, bouncing merrily in the waves. My peaceful afternoon at sea was even more delicious after the dramatic events earlier. It seemed as if I had faced some tough inner demons to get there, and this was my compensation: a few sweet glimpses of life as a mermaid.