1...2...3... Jump!!!

Me: I'm just afraid I will drown if I try to go scuba diving.
Mike: There's no way you can drown down there.
Me: I think you must not know how water works.

This is our umpteenth conversation about scuba diving. While I totally want to do it because he enjoys it so much and he is excited at the idea of me going with him, I want to do it more to prove to myself that I can. It's another step on a long road to living my life to the fullest and experiencing everything. But I seem to have this terrible hang up about dying. Some people might call it risk averse, or even irrational. I call it a healthy appreciation for breathing. 

Mike: You're being unreasonable. You'll be fine. You probably haven't even thought about sharks yet. 
Me: Good call on bringing that up. Are you trying to kill me before I even get to the water? And as a matter of fact, yes, I have thought of sharks. And barracudas, eels, sea urchins, lion fish, sting rays, jelly fish, giant squid, and any other fish who may find me tasty. I am quite delicious, you know. 
Mike: *frustrated sigh*

My tendency toward caution goes way back, as does my aversion to water. I'm sorta like a cat (in that I avoid water. Otherwise I'm nothing like a cat, in that they have multiple lives and do dangerous shit all the time). I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was ten, I couldn't swim until I was twelve, and I simply avoided things like skate boards and motorcycles altogether. I engaged in safer pursuits, such as reading and art. Nobody ever died because they held a pencil the wrong way (unless maybe they were running with said pencil). Since childhood, I have managed to overcome some of my fears.  I have been bungee jumping, sky diving, learned how to ride a motorcycle, and led a conga line around the party deck of a cruise ship.  I seem to be slowly getting this adventure thing down.

My new bowling shoes

In the course of getting certified to drown, you have to take a class and get a bunch of gear, because apparently people are not made for being underwater. Shocking, I know. So we went to Diver's Direct in Palm Beach Gardens to get me fitted for a whole bunch of stuff to "make my diving experience comfortable and enjoyable." After all, one should be properly packaged for the sharks. The sales associate, Doug, was extremely helpful and encouraging, so mad props to you, Doug! I was not expecting to spend an hour trying on frog suits and frog feet, but I am now the proud owner of a mask, flippers, a snorkel, dive booties and gloves. Now all I need is a set of balls, and I may actually take the class. 

All kidding (and most whining) aside, I really am going to do it, even though I'm terrified. Not because anyone else wants me to, but in spite of people wanting me to. Mike says he doesn't care if I do it or not. You know, no pressure. Then he spends two hours in the dive shop with me, picking out gear, talking about how happy he is I'm getting certified. Nope, no pressure there. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize I am over-thinking it, and all that really gets me is panic attacks and throwing up and nothing positive. So I'm going to take out a life insurance policy and then conquer this fear the way I have conquered all my others - by closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and leaping. 

Yes, y'all.  This is actually me, about 14,500 feet up.