Open Sea Swimming
I’ve always been afraid of the ocean.
As a kid we used to drive from Buffalo, NY to Long Island to visit family. And every summer we’d spend at least one day at Jones Beach, famous for its smooth, white sand and warm water.
My little brother and sister, 5 and 10 years younger than me, respectively, couldn’t wait to throw on their suits and wade out into the dark, mysterious, infinite depths.
They were explorers, adventurers, and risk-takers.
I was not.
While they were splashing, swimming, and boogie boarding, I was as far inland as possible, digging in the sand, tossing a frisbee with my mom, or, more likely, hiding under our tent with a book to escape the elements.
After high school I never visited a beach again.
That is, until I turned 30.
The Adventure of a Lifetime
A major national corporation in Australia was hosting their annual conference, and this year they were doing it in style. It would be held in Cairns, the gateway to the Great Barrier Reef.
The resort was stunning – immaculate with clear blue pools spanning seemingly miles, and a view of the Coral Sea from my room that rivaled any locale in the world.
After 36 hours of flying, 1 day of recovery, 1 day of rehearsal, just 45 minutes on stage, and a couple hundred handshakes during cocktail hour later, I had concluded my professional obligation to the client.
The following day was mine, to do whatever I wanted, before the 36 hour trek back home. And I had decided:
I would go snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef.
Why would I do that to myself?
Weeks earlier my wife Lindsey said,
“Please do something interesting while you’re in Australia. Take an extra day before coming home. You have my blessing. Enjoy yourself on the road, for once.”
A command framed as a request.
After just minutes of Googling it became clear there was only one answer, a tour of the Great Barrier Reef. I looked up the best tour company, and it was all rather simple.
The bus would pick me up at the resort, and we’d drive some 90 miles out to the Port where we would board the cruise ship. Then that ship would take the 100 or so passengers 90 miles out into the sea, where it would dock at a massive floating station owned by the tour company.
We’d be given 5 hours to do anything we wanted, and the list of activities was endless. You couldn’t possibly do it all in one trip, so I’d have to plan and prioritize.
Just before I clicked “purchase” on my solo ticket I was given an upgrade option: A 1-hour snorkeling tour with a private instructor and no more than 4 other guests.
The website said you could add that upgrade right up until we actually docked on the day, but I knew if I didn’t pre-pay I’d never work up the courage to do it.
So I upgraded.
No Turning Back
2 months later I stood on a floating dock in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef, wearing a rather uncomfortable wetsuit and trying not to trip while walking in my flippers.
It was beautiful. I’d have been content to simply sit, eat the exquisite seafood buffet, have a drink, and breathe the salty air.
Instead, a stranger is telling me to jump into the sea. 4 other strangers are staring at me.
Well, here goes nothing.
I slid into the water and clung to the wall of the ship. Our instructor started teaching us how to use a snorkel, and we practiced simply putting our head 2” into the water and breathing, while still holding on to the ship.
Panic rocketed through my body. This was literally my nightmare.
We were taught to kick and hold onto a line that extended out from the boat some 30 feet into the sea. As we slowly left the safety of the ship, our instructor kept our minds occupied by pointing out various pieces of coral and delivering Great Barrier Reef 101 trivia.
At some point I realized I wasn’t thinking about my fear. I was too busy marveling at the experience.
We reached the end of the line and our instructor said,
“Usually this is where the introductory guided tour ends. But you’re all doing so well. Do you want to keep going? It has to be unanimous.”
I could see everyone was game. It was all on me.
“Let’s do it.”
Hopefully that sounded as confident as it did in my head.
Surprising Myself
The instructor lifted the line and we each swam under it, venturing further from the ship and completely untethered, apart from a wetsuit, lifejacket, and snorkel.
“Now, at this distance it’s possible to see a great sea turtle. I just want to warn you, it’s unlikely. Everyone expects to see one, but it’s not like Finding Nemo. The sea is vast and there aren’t that many of them. The likelihood of us bumping into-”
Our instructor stopped cold.
“Hang on,” he said, just before disappearing below the surface.
He popped back up.
“Okay, everybody quickly, put your heads in.”
The second my head cleared the water I saw it. Our instructor was pointing to what couldn’t have been more than 15 feet in front of us, and there it was.
A great sea turtle. It was the most incredible thing I’d seen in my entire life. And it was just like Finding Nemo.
We kept our heads under, breathing through the snorkel like pros, until the turtle swam completely out of sight.
When we came back up, the five of us were jubilant, sharing a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And somewhere in the midst of that celebration I noticed, for the first time, that I couldn’t see the ship.
I turned my head in every direction and disorientation kicked in. And then, finally, I saw it. The ship was so small. We weren’t near the line anymore, or even close. We were truly on our own, in the middle of the sea, immersed in the infinite and mysterious.
And it was thrilling.
I’ll never forget it.
(and that’s good, because my GoPro failed completely after the first 5 minutes, leaving me with almost no proof of that magical adventure)
Staying In Your Lane
I recently recorded an interview for my podcast with Julia Freeland, author of Take Your Shoes Off First.
During that conversation she described true human connection in the post-pandemic world as the difference between swimming laps in a pool and open sea swimming.
In a pool you can keep your head down and simply follow the lines. Stay in your lane and you’re sure to get where you’re going.
Out at sea, however, you’ve got to keep your head up. Perhaps you’re aiming for an island you noticed off in the distance. Well, the sea might have other plans, and suddenly you can’t even find that island anymore. But that’s okay, because you might notice somewhere else even more interesting to explore.
Most of us used to treat conversations like laps in a pool. There aren’t any surprises. But today, conversations are like the sea. The only way to navigate it without drowning is to keep your head up and be open to changing both your path and the destination.
That day in the Great Barrier Reef I discovered the true power of giving up control.
If I’d stuck to my own destination, I’d never have met that great sea turtle. I’d have been sipping whiskey and eating crab legs inside the ship, looking out at snorkelers through the window of my climate controlled environment.
You don’t have to know where a conversation is going.
Just enter the water. Trust yourself. You might be pleasantly surprised where you both end up, together.
