Things I Learned This Year of Being Fully Alive

 

Every year around my birthday, I reflect on what I have learned during this year of being alive. And each year there seems to be more, as life is largely about learning and sharing for me. This year was huge, so it has taken some extra time for retrospection.

You see, this year, I built my own business from the ground up. That is no small feat. The research alone is a full-time job. I wrote a business plan, I designed a website. I signed contracts, I became a resaler for some products, and also designed my own. I wrote curriculum, standards, and designed class outlines for new PADI classes. I met in a boardroom for negotiations with a hotel. I created signage, and with an amazing friend’s help, created fliers and brochures. I created a branding package. But here are the things that stand out about building a new business, and the lessons that stuck with me this year: 

This year I learned that no matter how perfect that thing you want seems, if it doesn’t work out, there’s a reason: there is a better possibility. It’s hard to see in the moment, when your current dream falls apart in front of you leaving you shocked and numb. I thought I had the perfect fit, and then they told me no. SO, I went back to the drawing table and asked myself, do you still want this? Could it be better received elsewhere, and will you give it the chance? The answer was yes, so I contacted those who told me no and asked why. I asked for feedback that would help me grow and learn and be more successful the next time around. I took their feedback to heart and applied it right away. And the next fit I tried for was SO MUCH better than what the first fit had to offer. Better than I could have dreamed up! And I come away from all this knowing that I am much happier where I am at than I ever could have been with that original dream. Remember with every disappointing wrong fit, there is a more perfect one waiting. Don’t get so caught up in what didn’t work that you don’t see other possibilities. 

I learned that it is extremely hard for me to make cold calls. I’ve always known that about myself, I’m a shy critter by nature. Seeking out a stranger in a position higher than my own to ask for something I want from them…that’s truly scary to me. As in cold sweats, fist clenching, stuttering words, literally shaking in my shoes scary. But it can be done. Three deep breaths, and posture that says I-know-where I-am-going and I’ve-got-this helps. When making cold calls, I have learned it is best to come from a place of love. Treat the person you are meeting for the first time as though they are a friend. Truly listen to them so you can talk with them, not at them. Bring them coffee, and if at all possible, hug a bunch of people before you go in, lighten up that nervous heart!

I’ve learned that there are always people out there who have got your back. Even if you haven’t seen them in over a year, friends are always rooting for you. I learned that there are so many people on this island who are in my corner, there is no way I should feel alone, ever. (As a side note for those of you who are reading this, know that at any time you need encouragement or a hug, I am here for you, even if it’s been a long time, please call me.)

I have been reminded that it comes back to you. Glow at others, and they will glow at you when your light is dim. The goodness we put out there is never wasted. For loved ones, for strangers, for those in positions above and below us, showing kindness is always of value.

Kindness first. If you can make this a priority, it will change all of your interactions. You are fully in charge of your reactions. Be mindful. Let kindness come up first. Not frustration. Not anger. I'm not perfect, no one is, but I try. I was recently upgraded to the front of the plane because kindness is a priority for me.

Be mindful with your feedback. Often, we want to tell others what is not working. We make their short comings about us, we take it personally and then our words to them are anything but kind. Remember when you are putting statements out online that they don’t go away. Words written in reaction-mode in reviews or comments on social media tend to be a lot about me me me, and less mindful of how it makes that person feel. I’ve seen a lot of scathing remarks made by people who don’t fully understand a situation and they sadden those they are aimed at, and change that person’s behavior, not for the better. If you try looking for what is working and state this first, acknowledge what the person is doing right, point out the best qualities first, then the person has a chance to take your feedback as well rounded and view what they are doing/producing as a work in progress, not a failure.

I’ve learned that even if what you are putting out there is beautiful and pure, people will still hate it, and they will hate you and there’s nothing you can do about it. So you'd better let that go. The more involved I get with social media for the business, the more reactions and comments I receive. There will always be people who don’t get it, who don’t get you. That’s absolutely okay. Keep doing what you are doing, keep shining your light, keep swimming in your strange way if it works for you. And focus on the people who really get you, who understand what you are trying to do, collect these people, keep them close.  You can always tell the strong women, they are helping lift others up, not tearing others down to make themselves look better.

I’ve been reminded to choose my tone. With every singe sentence. With every reply. With every reaction. The same words said in a loving tone are soft, and in a frustrated tone are knives. Being mindful of your tone keeps your words more on track with your intentions. It prevents unnecessary arguments, and helps you to be better understood. This is especially important around children. And loved ones.  

I’ve been reminded that others will care more about being right then they care about being close. Guys, repeatedly correcting others, or contradicting their statements doesn’t make you closer to them. You may be really intimate with Google, but you won’t have close relationships with your friends and family. 

I’ve also had the harsh reminder that how others take care of themselves or don’t, is not something I can control.  Naturally, when you love someone, you want the best for them. You want them to be healthy. That’s nice. But those things are not up to you. You cannot make them healthy. Unless that someone is your toddler, you are not in control of their health. You can’t make them see a doctor. You can’t make them live deeper, more fully, more effortlessly, move easier, eat better, look better, sleep better, none of this. The big news is that all of that is up to them. And some people would rather suffer, would rather put up roadblocks, would rather stay in the uncomfortable place they are in. That’s okay, it really is their choice. What can you do? You can love them. You can accept them. That’s all. It’s hard to step back and watch, but let their health be theirs. Let your love for them be yours.

Stubbornness distances you from others. I used to think stubbornness was a cute trait. I now think open mindedness is much more sexy. And, coincidentally, 99 times out of a hundred, open mindedness will bring you more happiness and closeness than being stubborn. I know, shocker.

I’ve learned that showing up is huge. If you want something, show up, work towards it. We’d all like for the things we want to come to us, but often, you need to meet them halfway. For example, some mornings the hotel calls to tell me they don’t have any bookings for me. I could take the day off, but I’d rather teach classes, so I go in. I set up. I talk to people. And usually, those are the days where I have the most students in my classes. Because I showed up. 

I’ve learned that being a mermaid is a lot like being the tooth fairy. Kids are drawn to you. You are magical and glittery and much less intimidating than Santa Claus. Yup, my mermaid tail is a kid magnet, and I love that. I’m a physical manifestation of their dreams, I am their dreams come true. So I try to hold the magic for them, help them believe. Logic will take you from A to B, but imagination will take you everywhere.

I have been reminded that there are truly good, generous people everywhere. When you reach out, when you open up and share, when you shine your light, others will recognize it and share back. Be who you are and share the magic of that with others. You never know who you will inspire.

Even when you don’t know how, keep moving towards what you want. Worry less about the ‘hows’, for they can drain your dream of its momentum. Instead, focus on the next step. You don’t need to know how it will work, just believe deeply that it will, that is enough. Just keep swimming.

Be clear about what you want. Put it out there. Write it down, speak it out loud. Otherwise, you are just waiting for whatever shows up. Tim and I set intentions all the time. Before our last journey, we put it out there that we wanted to see wildlife, have amazing interactions with them. We saw a flock of wild turkeys, a herd of elk, made eye contact with a coyote, had a bear walk thru the backyard, and fed a whitetail deer who approached us. Bat rays swam up to our toes in the bay. We spotted grey whales and harbor seals in the Pacific. We woke up to mule deer in our yard, paused for snakes to cross our path, and played peek a boo with a peregrine falcon, great white egret and a blue heron in the city. A hummingbird perched next to us for twenty minutes to watch the mountains light up with the sunrise in the forest. We laughed as spotted fawns played tag jumping the creek next to our trail, and then slept in the shade of our window awning. What was it we had asked for again? Oh yes, wildlife. You get my point.

As a scuba teacher, I learned this year that not everyone who enrolls in an Open Water certification class is meant to dive, or will become a diver. Just taking the test and going thru the paperwork doesn’t tell you if you’ll like the sensation of breathing underwater. And like all of my students before them, I found a way to support these people, to accept it and help them feel good about their accomplishments.  Even if they didn’t set out to do what they originally planned, they still tried new things, faced fears and learned valuable things about themselves.

I have learned that it is possible for you to train your eyes to see better underwater without a mask. And that over time, this may improve, if you can stay relaxed, and keep at it.

I knew that manta rays had the ability to feel your heartbeat, your resonance, your electro magnetic energy. This year, I learned just how in-tune and sensitive they are. I’ve learned that when I take out guests who are in a positive place, and are just sweet hearts overall, the mantas stay around longer than when I take out guys who are having a bad day, or are distracted or tend to push their way vs. feel their way thru life. I know that sounds strange, but the empaths reading this will understand. I’ve seen a manta respond immediately to a small change in heart.   

Through the hurricane, when there was a chance of being evacuated and we thought about packing a bag, I learned that I can always make more money to buy more things and go on more journeys, but I cannot buy more time with people I love once they are gone. This year, I learned that the people I love are the things I would pack to take with me. 

So there you have it, friends, a short overview of what I have learned this year of being alive. Thanks for reading. I hope some of you find something that resonates here for you. If I could leave you with anything new to try or to consider, it would be Kindness First. Out of all the possible reactions and possible approaches to others, try choosing kindness. Let it begin with you.

Best wishes for the year ahead, S

Goodbye to Snuba

To some extent everyone has felt this feeling once during their lifetime. It’s that echo in the empty rooms of the house you lived in for years, after you’ve packed all the boxes and you look back at a space that seems different now that you are out of it. Your hand rests on the door knob, you are about to move forward, you won’t come back to this place.  But for a moment you honor all that happened here over the years- the memories, the person you were when you first came in, the way both you and the space graduated, morphed over time. It’s hard to measure, hard to explain to the man walking his dog by as you take that last box to the car and drive away from a space where so much happened, there’s no way to begin to tell the story.

But I’m going to try anyway, because it’s a story worth telling. In my case, it’s not a house, it’s a particular hotel and a profession – Snuba at the Westin KOR. I know the dive site like the back of my hand, the corals, the places the fish hide their babies in a nursery, the cleaning stations where the rainbow wrasse wait to assist others, the pockets of sand, the octopus houses, the big yellow corral dome that the sea turtles have tucked under for a hundred and fifty years.  My time was shorter than theirs here, of course. This was my space for three years, three months. 

Just walking in to work every morning at seven fifteen, was beautiful. I strolled under the banana leaves of the chef’s garden where limes and mint grow abundantly. Past the blooming spider lilies, the wild ginger, the tiny purple orchids. Past the koi that swam beside me as I walked along their winding dark pool. And to my favorite place on property, under an archway of the building where the plumeria trees lean in, framed by the red awapuhi and where I can look up to see the palm trees reaching for the early morning sun and the monarchs drifting sleepily over the five story buildings into the courtyard. As I walked up to my office, occasionally a frond on the Traveler’s palm was down from the storm overnight and I'd wonder instinctively if my geckos were okay. The gold dust geckos are the perfect pets – they spend their lives in the tree and I got to see them every day -happy and wild, kissing the dew off the seams, perching in the breaks between palms. They’re not mine, of course, they never were, but I borrowed them, protected them from teenage boys and the carnivorous Carolina Annul lizards. I believe that we never really own a space, we borrow it, we care take it, we change it, improve it and if we are lucky, it improves us.

When I started here, I was just a dive instructor. Such a baby. I knew how to lead dives, how to teach people to scuba, but I didn’t know yet what it takes to make a four-year old excited to listen to a dive class. I didn’t know how to calm a hyperventilating fifty-five year old who has trauma issues with water in their past.  I laugh at how naively unequipped I was at first, how all I knew to say was, “You’re okay, you can do this.” 

I am grateful to my teachers – to Adam who taught me not to push. When the ocean says no, it doesn’t matter how attached you are to this dive happening, you have to listen and not go out. To Nick who taught me that when you take care of the gear, it takes care of you and taught me site mapping, and what customer service really looks like.  And most of all, I’m grateful to Brian who taught me the power of word choice in a class, taught me the importance of never doing things the same way because my divers’ abilities and ocean conditions are different on every single dive. He taught me a whole new level of thinking ahead, planning ahead and communicating just enough ahead so that I could be a successful guide. I’m grateful also for the ocean, the greatest teacher of all. That first year, I had no idea how to read the water – I couldn’t tell without going in and snorkeling the site before a dive what the visibility was, which way the current was running, how deep the surge was penetrating. Hundreds of snorkel trips to scout the site later, I can now stand in front of the sea and know right away what the dive will be like and what I need to do in these conditions to keep my divers safe.

I’m grateful I had years of experience, and thousands of children in the pool that I held hands with walking backwards with while they swam for the first time breathing thru a regulator, before I met Dorothy. Dorothy was six, a tiny pixie child who barely fit into my smallest fins and wetsuit. It doesn’t help that she came from a family of giants – all over six feet tall standing on the beach, hooked up to the lines of Snuba. She looked like their tiny pet bird rather than their youngest child.

Dorothy was in a life jacket so she could float, and I also put her on the raft for our entry into the water so she wouldn’t feel the waves, would feel more secure. And yet, as we got about 20 feet from shore, Dorothy began to cry. Not just a little, because when you are six you do things completely and with heart, she was flat-out balling. Her parents both tried to calm her down, her grandmother tried, her aunt mostly tried to get her to be quiet as everyone on the beach was now staring open mouthed. And then they let me try. I didn’t tell her to be quiet, instead, I asked what was wrong, told her she was so great at Snuba in the pool. Dorothy yelled at me that she was scared. And I told her that was normal, that lots of kids I took out here were scared too, but that they really loved it after they gave it a try because the fish were so cool. I asked if she had ever seen fish, and she hiccupped and shook her head and asked me to take her back to the beach. I told her I knew her whole family was out here because they wanted to show her these awesome fish - they knew she would love them. And I made her a compromise. I told her that if she would trust me, and come sit with me in the water – she wouldn’t even have to swim- I would hold her hands and we could find two fish. If she saw two fish out here and then told me she still wanted to go in, I would end the dive, swim her in, carry her up on the beach and sit her down on the sand where it was safe and not moving and not wet and she could stay on land if she wanted to. She took a shaky breath and considered this. Then she trusted me and slid off the boat into my arms.  I put up my knees so she could sit on my lap and together, we looked into the water. Immediately, there were surgeonfish around us and Dorothy surprised me, she didn’t put her face up for several breaths.  Then suddenly, her head shot up and she announced, “There’s three of them! And look, a yellow one!” That’s the last I heard from Dorothy for a while because her face was in the water swimming away from me, leading the group out to sea. Her grandma looked at me and shook her head slowly in disbelief and all I could do was smile. It was about this time, that I began to be okay to stand in the fact that I am really good at what I do. Others can do this same thing, but not in the same way, not making the connections that I do. 

I loved being a celebrity at the Westin. I’d come in and as I’d walk around the pool deck, children would yell out from their rooms above, “Hi Sara!” In the summer, I’d meet thirty new kids a day, introduce myself to all of them and then introduce them to this new thing called Snuba and show them what they were capable of. I’d work them through their apprehension, through how odd it is to not be able to breathe through your nose, and those kids knew I knew they could do it. They had me encouraging them all the way across the pool. Never underestimate how powerful it is for children to have someone other than their parents actively believe in them.

Photo Courtesy of Michael Lasmanis

                                                          

With the hugs, the letters and cards, the ones that would come to the pool just to talk to me while other kids took turns doing Snuba, I knew I was doing something right. My goal was to make a solid connection, and if you measure that in Crayola, I feel I achieved what I set out to do.

                                 

                                      

    

                                                               

My last week of Snuba at the Westin, I met Carla. She’s nearing 60, a cancer survivor. When they took out the bits of bone that were affected in her ankles, they took out the bits that would regenerate too – leaving her with permanent mini fractures and a very tentative step. She saw me walk a three-year-old across the pool as he breathed underwater and came up to ask me if that might be possible for her, and would she really have to wear fins? As I understood her situation more, I could see what she would need, how I would want to rearrange the way I put gear on this diver, how I could structure the dive to accommodate her. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a really hard dive on my body, but I got her out there and after she worked through her fear, I added her weights and we went down hand in hand. It was so freeing for Carla, after seeing all these things Hawaii had to offer that she could not do – to be weightless and flying underwater following the fish, actually achieving a dream. When we swam over a large sandy patch, I helped her come down - comical, because she was kicking the whole time. But in that moment, when her bare feet touched down in the powdery soft sand, the look in her eyes when I lifted up a handful and it hovered like glitter in the water around us, it was priceless. She was so happy, so amazed, so in love with life and the ocean and that moment. I backed away a few feet and took her photo, allowed her to play like a delighted little girl in the sand.

Carla came back the next day to hug me tight and to share with me that was one of the highlights of her life – the moment that stands out as the greatest experience she has ever had, and she thanked me because she understood it was possible because of me. She said, “I wouldn’t have been able to dive the way the others in our group did, but with you, I could actually do this!” She told me of her plans to enlarge the photo of herself standing barefoot on the bottom of the ocean and to add the caption, “When the water is over your head, just relax and enjoy the view.” I am so grateful that I could be that for her – to make it possible, to take her to a place she never thought she’d go. And boy do I feel it in my back today. The thing about carrying 65 pounds on your back while also hauling 250 pounds, dragging 80 pounds repeatedly up wet sand, is that you feel it the next day, or in my case, with my tiny frame - the entire week after. Snuba is the hardest physical work I have ever done. And I’m capable, I can do it, I’ve been doing it, at a great cost to my health.  Over the last two years I’ve been trying to remedy that without having to give up what I love to do. See, I don’t want to feel Snuba in 20 years.  And I’ve reached the point that no matter how rewarding this is, I find it more important to take good care of myself.

So, yesterday was my last Snuba dive. With a man named Scott, who loved to snorkel but thought he couldn’t go underwater. I was aware it was my last Snuba class as I was teaching him. After the class I asked if he had any questions. “No,” he said, “to be honest, it’s all a little scary.” 
And I got this big grin on my face and said, “I know, and that’s wonderful.”
He looked at me, shocked and I told him, “because that means you are going outside of your comfort zone, you are taking a risk. I’m telling you, it’s worth it, this has a huge reward if you can work beyond your fear. Fear is uncertainty telling you that you are doing something new, and it’s in those new experiences that the rewards in life are – you have to go beyond what you know to get this type of experience.” 

When I explained that to a little girl once, she overcame her fear and explored the sea, then marinated on what was possible for her, on the beauty that was laying right there the whole time, unseen beneath a surface she’d never been brave enough to put a toe in. And afterwards, she wrote me a letter telling me, “You really inspired me and taught me that you can do whatever your heart tells you.” For the last three years, I have been that voice – gently telling them, that if you want to try it, you can do it, and there is something incredible out there waiting for you when you do.  

Scott was blown away. He had to work through hyperventilating, but now I know so many more techniques and deeper explanations, I had more tools to give him than just, “it’s okay, you can do it.” In time, he was able to use mind over matter and calm down and enjoy. When we dropped beneath the surface, the whales were singing loudly. They were close. And over the song was a little chirp – the high pitch of a baby whale talking to it’s mother. I’ve done this once before, and it was so amazing that when the opportunity presented itself again, I had to try. I mimicked the baby and called out in my regulator in the same pitch. Immediately, it responded, copying me and adding two notes. We called back and forth over and over for about fifteen minutes. At points, I was laughing out loud because the baby whale sounded so ecstatic, almost like a dolphin. Once, it's voice sounded like high pitched laughter and I actually had to look around to see if someone was messing with me – for was it really possible that a baby whale could make sounds that complex, could laugh? But there was only Scott looking back at me, smiling in his mask – pointing out into the blue and cupping his ear, asking if I could hear the whales.

As you see, it’s hard to put into words. For example, when someone asks what I did today and I tell them, ‘oh, I had a conversation with a baby whale.’ It’s beyond what most people know. When they ask, ‘what have you been doing the past three years?’ What can I tell them? I’ve been lifting/hauling/carrying/swimming sure, but most of all I’ve been believing in people, becoming a better guide, more intimately connected with the ocean, encouraging kids and showing them what’s possible if they work through their fear. And now? Now I more forward, I leave this place that I have borrowed, protected, and tried to improve with my enthusiasm and kindness. I’m lucky because it has improved me too.

Just as the houses we grew up in are now filled with the lives of others, the Westin and its guests will go on as usual without me there. The Snuba office will fill with something else. The turtles will still be tucking under the yellow coral dome rather I’m there to see them or not. The geckos will be peering out of the tree and I will be going for what’s next – taking a risk, doing something new, going after what my heart knows is possible.