The dolphins and the sharks.

Every summer my family spends a week in San Diego; our daily plans are predictable in a comforting sort of way. We eat, live, and breathe the ocean. I love, I will repeat this, LOVE the ocean… but It never fails, my first day back into the water I'm plagued with anxiety. As I step into the Pacific, my breathing takes on a life of its own, adapting an almost hiccup-like rhythm, and with each forward push my toxic blood pulsates violently through my veins and my heart feels like it's going to fall out of my butt; and yet, I force myself ahead.

It doesn't help that at this time I'm struggling to delete whatever scenes I have saved up from that son of a Mitch movie, Jaws. After this movie, I could no longer fully enjoy dolphin sightings from inside the same water, because while I am able to differentiate the dorsal fin of a dolphin from that of a shark… by the time I've spotted its peak I'm halfway to The Democratic Republic of Congo! Don't misunderstand me; I have a true respect for the ocean and all of the creatures that call it home; and trust me, I burn with passionate desire to watch shark week on The Discovery Channel whenever it’s on. I'm hypnotized by their raw beauty and sheer power; but I refuse to, knowing that it will only worsen this curious anxiety that has seemed to grow over the years.

When I find my bravery I dive in, allowing my body to adapt to the cool temperature. My hands glide along the dark flat sand and I push myself up, coming back for air. I open my eyes immediately to scan for predators; I’m safe… for now. While wading there, my breathing starts to regulate itself, my blood no longer flows like toxins through its passageways, my heart makes its way toward its indented placement and my confidence is partially regained. After these wasted minutes of unreal anxiety, the ocean is no longer foe, but a familiar, much missed friend.

Perhaps it's not so much the possibility of being attacked by a raging tiger shark that scares me to the point of hyperventilation; it may not even be the fear I have of riptides and being pulled out to sea, perhaps it's the fierce mystery of the deep dark blue that's got me tied, altogether.

Sometimes, we run. I'm so guilty of it. We have our minds made up before we really know; we’ve left and gone when all we needed to do was just give it more time. I don't want to be that kid that runs from the unknown; I don’t want head for the heart of Africa before I know whether it's a dolphin or a shark of this life. I also don't want to be the kid that gets attacked by the shark either. It's a delicate balance… with a very fine line, and we’re always clinging onto that tightrope, fighting like hell not to fall one way or the other. I want to be able to enjoy the ocean (life) anxiety free. I want to face my fear of the sharks, so I can enjoy the dolphins.