As a kid I was legitimately terrified of fish. At the cottage, I pretended there were no fish in the lake, and if anything tickled my toes while in the water, I would be up the ladder in an instant. I remember once I was with my Dad and my brother who were fishing in the late afternoon, when a fresh catch jumped off the rod and was flailing and flopping about on the dock. That fish was legitimately terrified, but it was me who lost my shit… I sprinted up to the cottage screaming at the top of my lungs. My Mom bounded out of the shower, towel thrown around her soaking wet body, thinking someone had died. Nope, no crisis, just a fish out of water.
A few years later, while on a family vacation to Disney World, we had the day at Typhoon Lagoon. There was a snorkelling experience across a “shark reef”, where guests could see real sharks below (under glass? I don’t actually remember). I panicked and was crying, and when my parents asked me what I was scared of, I yelled, “THE FISH!!!” I have a vague memory of closing my eyes and kicking my little heart out, making it to the other side, without having to see a single fish (or shark, for that matter!).
To me fish were icky, slimy, otherworldly, and only acceptable in frozen fish stick form, paired with minute rice and creamed corn.
The tides began to turn slightly when I became a teenager. We took a trip to the Dominican Republic and we had a scuba experience — I desperately wanted to like it, and forced myself to join the group (an early version of FOMO, perhaps?). As we lowered ourselves down under the ocean using a rope to guide us, I came face to face with my first reef shark, and I surprisingly wasn’t terrified.
And then I bought myself two goldfish, naming them Abercrombie & Fish, after my favorite clothing store at the time (how trendy was I?). I purchased a small fish bowl for their home, placed them on the corner of my desk and fed them every day. Unbeknownst to me, fish require water changes, or tanks that actually filter the water. This was before the days when a quick Google search would have taught me well! Abercrombie died in a week, Fish dying a few days later of loneliness (so I told myself). This was my first foray into animal cruelty, perhaps setting the groundwork for my future as a vegetarian… scooping those fish out and flushing them down the toilet terrified me, but I was a fish Mom, and it was my duty to end their lives respectably.
Over the years, I reluctantly went snorkelling, often pretending to be fascinated by the fish. When people around me would get excited about what we could see, I would temporarily become fascinated, their enthusiasm contagious. I joined some friends in Akumal, south of Cancun, and that is the first time I remember genuinely enjoying snorkelling – the water was warm, shallow and my mask never fogged up. As my travels got wider, I was fortunate enough to see some really, really beautiful fish. Clownfish, Lionfish, Rainbow fish… colors that were breathtaking. As long as I kept my distance, I enjoyed looking, as if they were in an aquarium, and not in the ocean right beside me.
Upon moving to Thailand I challenged myself and got my scuba certification in order to go on a liveaboard trip with friends in the Maldives. I was scared to get certified, but that fear motivated me to do it. On those first few dives, for every beautiful fish I saw, the dive masters would also be pointing out a poisonous fish, a triggerfish, or an evil eel poking out of their home, standing guard. On top of that there were strong currents, issues with buoyancy, and multiple ways to die: running out of air, going to the surface too quickly, or a full on anxiety attack. To state the obvious: humans are not meant to be underwater for more than a few seconds at a time. In order for us to be down there for a 45 minute dive, we need to suit ourselves up as if we are going into space. Isn’t this a sign from the universe that maybe we should find a different playground – maybe one that we can breath in?
I’m currently spending the week between Christmas and New Years in Koh Tao, an island in the gulf of Thailand that is known for scuba diving and snorkelling. That last time I came here, 5 years ago, I was here to go diving. As we came up from our last dive, we were unexpectedly caught in a swarm of jellyfish. I could tell that my instructor was nervous. She told us all to raise our arms out of the water, turn around and kick as hard as we could. I did as instructed, but still managed to get stung on my arm. It burned and left a mark, but more than that, it scared the shit out of me.
And I haven’t been diving since.
Why are humans so fascinated with frontiers — the edges of our world? We cannot live in space, and we cannot breath underwater, yet we continue to push humanity to find ways to stay alive in these unlivable landscapes. Thank goodness for people that feel a calling to do that sort of work. With my aversion to small places, and fear of not being able to breath, I simply can’t imagine being that person. Being 30 meters underwater, relying on a tank of air that could fail at any point, avoiding deadly eels and deadly jellyfish brings me no joy, only terror.
Fish have continued to terrify me at multiple points in my adult life: Watching out for catfish that could sting children playing in the water while lifeguarding at Red Pine Camp? Being careful not to come near a deadly stonefish that can camouflage while scuba diving in the Maldives? Being evacuated from the water when sea snakes infiltrated the waters near our resort in Borneo?
After that last dive in Koh Tao five years ago, I quit. It feels incredibly freeing to quit something that genuinely scared me, and that I never liked anyway. I accept that there is a certain amount of fear that is inevitable to do the things that I love, and I call on my courage to push through. Planes make me a bit nervous now, but I still get on them. Hiking alone is not my preference (snakes! falling!), but since I am travelling alone, I still do it (and of course, I always make sure someone knows where I am). I’m nervous about swimming in the ocean and getting stung by a jellyfish again, but since there is no greater joy than floating in the waves with the salty taste on my lips, I do it anyway.
And it brings me so much joy to have let go. I feel no desire to ever “prove to myself” that I can do it. I know that I can, because I have. I have lived through much more fear inducing experiences and I feel no desire to bring more fear than is necessary. Do I still do things every day that scare me? Of course! I get a thrill from hiking to a viewpoint, asking for a guy’s number, or hitting publish on a new blog post.
And I’m unlikely to die from any of those.
Just enough to keep life interesting, and mostly fish-less.
*This photo was taken in Koh Tao, overlooking Koh Nang Yuan, just before New Years Eve, December 2020.
**If you have been following the news, you will know that COVID has breached our little Thailand bubble, and our numbers have started going up again after an outbreak at a seafood market southwest of Bangkok. After three weeks in the islands for my holiday, I am back in Bangkok. We have moved to Virtual School again, gyms & massage parlors have closed, and restaurants are not serving alcohol. The air quality is also terrible, so we have been relegated indoors. Let’s continue gently into 2021, my friends!
