Would you rather go to space or the bottom of the ocean? I have always chosen the ocean, where beauty is bountiful. Under the sea are hundreds of mini-worlds unbothered by life on the surface.
Which is one reason why my friend suggested I get my scuba diving licence. The other was that diving was on the itinerary for an upcoming holiday. I’d never thought about being a certified diver before, but I was excited to have the ability to explore the big blue.
In order to do this, I needed to pass a theory and practical exam. As an alumna of Zoom university, my eyes glazed over upon opening the e-learning platform. But the words “decompression sickness”, “oxygen poisoning” and “death” had me sitting up. Who knew breathing underwater would involve more than just swimming with a tank of air on my back? High on fear, I passed the theory exam with flying colours.
Learning about the gear was one thing, putting it on was another. Although I struggled to keep myself upright on land, my first practice session in the pool helped me adjust to having 20kg of equipment strapped to myself in the water, and helped quell fears raised by the online exam. It also didn’t hurt that I naturally took to a lot of the skills that many new divers struggle with, such as achieving neutral buoyancy – staying in one place without sinking or rising.
I was ready to make my debut in Sydney’s Gordons Bay, the site of my practical exam. But once I was in the ocean, I was flooded with fear. With no place for my feet to touch down, the endlessness of the water made escape feel impossible. I’m no Tom Cruise.
I failed the last part of the practical test, which involved removing my mask, swimming a distance without it and putting it back on – all while underwater. Although I was only five metres deep, as soon as water started filling up in my mask I stopped breathing through my mouth and nervously held my breath. Being surrounded by water was a reminder of how unnatural this all was. Who was I to defy the limits of our terrestrial form? With the gear on my back, I desperately clawed my way up from the depths, committing the cardinal sin of scuba diving: rapidly ascending to the surface.
The shame of failing stuck to me like my wetsuit. Later, when recounting the events of my weekend, the panic of being unable to breathe caught in my throat.
In time, my anxiety around the water dissipated and I became less embarrassed about having failed. It would have been dangerous if I continued learning to dive as I kept shooting up to the surface, risking aforementioned sickness and death. But I also wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Aside from the actual swimming part, every scuba skill I practised in the ocean filled me with dread. Hobbies are supposed to be fun, after all.
I think back to the unsuccessful end to my test, when we finished the dive with a group swim around the bay. This was set to the echoey whoosh of my breathing and the low rumblings of the ocean.
In those last 20 minutes I came to understand the beauty of silence. But I’m happy seeing the depths from the surface.
