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.  

Shark Water: Dispelling the Myths

Photo courtesy of Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

At first, they were just pale forms beneath the boat as we pulled up over a section of deep blue water off the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. The sharks rose quickly, their forms growing larger until fins broke the surface, circling one another in a frenzy of excitement. I peered over the edge of the boat and counted seven sharks in the water, many larger than myself. They rose higher and as a couple began jumping, our guide, Ocean Ramsey told us to gear up. It was now time to get into the water. Naturally, I was nervous but excited as I donned my snorkel and fins. And oh, one more thing, I also just started my period.

By going into the water, I was dispelling two myths at the same time: 1) sharks are blood thirsty man eaters, and 2) it’s deadly for a woman to swim in the ocean on her period. But mainly, I was there because I wanted to understand these creatures the way our guide does. Ocean Ramsey has devoted her life to shark study, and is one of the leading marine biologists trying to protect them. You may have seen her in recent videos taking the internet by storm – she’s that tiny blonde girl who dives down next to the Great White and holds onto its pectoral fin, riding it for as long as she can hold her breath. The shark is aware of her presence but doesn’t seem to mind her touch in the slightest. Ocean herself is the epitome of grace, oozing a gentle confidence, at home in the water. On the ride out to the site, she and our other guide Sophie shared some alarming facts about shark population decline and explain the rules of our excursion very clearly.

Rule number 1: maintain eye contact. Prey tries to hide, looks away as it turns and flees. When you look eye to eye with a shark, you meet it predator to predator. Rule number 2: no thrashing, no wild swimming with your hands. Don’t give the sharks any reason to believe you are struggling, or nervous, or moving so fast it looks like small fish (fingers) around you are up for grabs. Rule number 3: don’t get below them. Sharks school in a hierarchy with the apex predators on top in the shallows and lesser, lower individuals on the totem pole down deeper.  

It took a while to relax. Climbing down the ladder, I was trying to control my thumping heart because I just learned that sharks can feel your heart beat, feel your electromagnetic energy and know when you are confident or afraid.  It wasn’t fear I felt, but adrenaline, holding on to the rope strung on the side of the boat looking down on more sharks than I could count at one time. It wasn’t eyes I saw when I looked at them below me, it was graceful sleek grey bodies. The sharks were curious. Even though we hadn’t baited them by throwing chum in the water, they stayed near our boat, circling in an unpredictable manner. A large female Galapagos Shark approached and swam by, just feet from me.  Obviously the apex predator, she had bite marks on her body and a tall sharp dorsal fin. This shark became my favorite, as I tried to see them as Ocean does, big beautiful powerful beings with names like “Unicorn” and “Waffles,” not the fictional man eaters starring in horror films. The media has spoon-fed humanity a misunderstanding of sharks and taught us to fear them. I meet so many people who are vacationing in Hawaii while scared to death of the ocean, not putting a toe in because a shark might attack them like it did in that recent movie.  Which is sad and silly, considering people are ten times more likely to get bit by a New Yorker than a shark. More people die annually from getting hit by lightning, from falling coconuts, from vending machines toppling over for goodness sakes! Cows are more dangerous! The truth is, there are on average ten deaths a year by sharks, and we are killing over one hundred million annually around the globe. So who is the real blood thirsty murderer here?  

Photo thanks to Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

As Unicorn circled back around, Ocean invited me away from the boat to swim with her. That was a relief, as it was getting exhausting trying to hold on, trying to maintain eye contact, to not get swept under the boat by the changing current, not get hit by the ladder as it bounced next to me in the churning surface. Ocean motioned me forward, pointed in the direction that was safe to dive, and I went down without hesitation. Underwater, it was instantly calm, quiet, and I was comfortable in my deep blue element (that is, with 17 schooling sharks). Being beneath the surface in their territory was amazing. The sharks didn’t change their path at all, they didn’t swim up to me, nor swim faster. As I dove, I looked up to the boat and when I looked back I was in shark traffic, making eye contact with a Sandbar shark. With a more pointed nose than the Galapagos, his stare was intense. His eyes cut straight through me and my heart stopped for a second. There was nothing evil nor menacing in his gaze, but it was without a doubt the most direct look I have received in my life. Realizing I was below the apex and lower in the school than I should be, I swam up ten feet and Ocean and I switched direction and swam up the water column back to the boat.

Photo Courtesy of Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

During the entire hour and a half we were in the water, the sharks paid no more attention to me on my period than anyone else. The myth about them being able to smell a drop of blood a mile away and heading over to eat you immediately is just that: a myth. They do have an incredible sense of smell, but our blood doesn’t smell appetizing to them as we are not on their menu. Seals, tuna, sure. Attacks happen when sharks confuse us in murky water for their food source, not because we have a scrape or are on our period.  Let’s put it this way: just because you can smell a rotting dumpster half a block away doesn’t mean you want to run over there to eat out of it. But when you smell bacon on the street, you are interested, looking around, wondering which house it is coming from. Tuna blood is the drop of blood a shark would follow to investigate. Human blood is not.  

They belong in the ocean more than we do, they are an intricate part of the ecosystem and we are wiping them out at a rate of three every second.  Primarily, this slaughter is in Asia for a prestigious Chinese delicacy that represents high stature – shark fin soup.  It is a tasteless bowl of luxury, and millions of sharks lose their life for it annually. But it’s not only in Asia, shark meat is also used in dogfood, and shark cartilage in supplements - both of which are on the shelf in your local grocery store.

The other main reason behind our widespread hunting is fear. I have met sharks face to face, and felt safe the entire time. But most of humanity meets computer generated shark images face to TV screen where they are portrayed in an evil light and feel afraid. Yes, they are bigger and stronger and faster (sorry Michael Phelps) than us, but they don’t want to eat us. They’re not interested in our blood at all. Sharks are not hunting us, it is the exact opposite. And if it continues at this rate, the delicate balance of the underwater ecosystem will be damaged beyond repair.  At top of the food chain, sharks keep the underwater homeostasis of the ocean. Without them, algae may overtake coral reefs, disease may wipe out hundreds of species of fish, including ones we rely on for food, and our fisheries would shut down.

Australia has implemented a cull, meaning that in attempts to make murky waters safer for surfers who look like seals in their wetsuits and thrash like they’re struggling when off the board, sharks are being caught in masses on drum lines and killed.  94% of those caught are Tiger sharks, which are nearing endangerment and have not been responsible for a fatal attack in the area since 1929. What if, instead of killing the sharks, we could kill our own fear? That’s why Ocean Ramsey’s work is so important. As Baba Dioum reminds us, "in the end we will conserve only what we love; we will love only what we understand; and we will understand only what we are taught." Education is a key piece to sharks’ and our oceans’ survival.

           WHAT YOU CAN DO:

• Try keeping an open mind and understand the reality behind our spoon-fed perception of sharks.  Don’t believe everything you see on TV. Understand that your fear is learned, and sometimes it is not based on facts at all. If you can learn it, you have the power to unlearn it.

• Be a conscious consumer. Don’t buy products made from sharks. The obvious one is the shark tooth necklace – if it isn’t a fossil, don’t buy it. Sharks are also often found in vitamins, supplements labeled as shark cartilage, squalamine lactate, AE-941 and U-995. Sharkskin is used in several countries including the United States for belts purses, shoes and labeled as shagreen. Sharks are often dogfood ingredients labeled as: spiny dogfish, rock salmon and thresher.

• Support organizations that are fighting to save marine wildlife. Sea Shephard, Wild Aid, Humane Society International, Shark Savers, Shark Research Institute, Shark Angels, Project AWARE, just to name a few.

• If you’re up for it, go see Ocean Ramsey and meet her friends the sharks face to face in a safe environment. See how beautiful they are and see for yourself and how different they are from the demons media portrays them as. (Meet Beast, and see not the monster but the heart) If you can’t get to Hawaii to do this, or your fear won’t let you, talk about it with others, recommend it. Live vicariously through them, and at least spread a more positive outlook. Get different information out there that is closer to the truth. www.oneoceandiving.com

• If you are seated at a restaurant with Shark Fin Soup on the menu, get up. Respectfully explain to the manager why you will not be dining there as you will not support any place that serves this dish, therefore promoting mindless slaughter.  Ask them to consider removing it from their menu and calmly walk out. It is only by hearing opposition and seeing dollars walk out the door that restaurants will withdraw their financial support of shark finning. You don’t have to be rude about it, but please understand that even by ordering something else on their menu, you are still supporting a business that contributes to the decline of a critically endangered species. In the two minutes this takes to do, 360 sharks are killed by humans.

• Ask your local restaurants where their fish and chips are sourced from. Keep in mind that shark meat is served under different names such as: spiny dogfish, rock fish, rock salmon, thresher, huss, rig or rock eel and flake. Shark species used in restaurants are being fished to the brink of extinction.  

• Educate yourself and others with facts. Read the articles produced by Shark Research Institute and other organizations that have studied sharks, not criminalized them for entertainment. Watch Ocean Ramsey’s TED Talk. Watch the videos of her swimming with Tiger sharks and Great Whites and coexisting in a peaceful manner. You Tube the man who cuts his wrist in a school of Great Whites and see how uninterested they are as he bleeds around them. Sharks are not mindless killers. It is not their intent to harm us. We are not on their menu, but they certainly are on ours.  We kill 11,4017 sharks per hour.

For a powerful visual graph of the comparison, click  here

Getting the Shot - the Delicate Business of Earning Trust

Earning a wild animal's trust is a remarkable gift.  Especially within predator and prey roles. On my dive site, an octopus's relationship with humans usually ends with a spear gun. They're so rare, I see one in every fifty dives for a good reason - they're tasty. Everything, including the average male, is out to eat them.

I quit eating octopuses years ago when I truly got serious about scuba diving. I cherished my interactions with these highly intelligent creatures, so I just couldn't be a part of their demise. I still eat seafood, just not the characters I've made a personal connection with.

I recently upgraded to a serious new camera with an involved underwater housing and this week took it diving for the very first time. I was so excited to get it in the water, and wasn't sure what I would shoot. I was hoping for a nudibranch (sea slug) that would hold still while I fidgeted with the settings and experimented. I mean, there's bound to be a huge learning curve with the new toy, right?
What I met was so much better.

She was about thirty feet from me when I spotted her, and I approached slowly. She did the same thing all octopuses do when they see a diver and tucked down, reducing her size to hide in a hole. Because they don't have bones in their body, octopus can really make themselves shrink.
Before she disappeared, I took this photo. This is what most of my octopus photos in the past (that I have felt really lucky to capture) have looked like. (Hint: She's that perfectly camouflaged reddish bit in the center.)

Usually, I leave, and when I get twenty feet or so away, the octopus will come halfway out to check and see if I'm gone. They're curious, they can't help but watch us go. But this particular morning, I decided to try something different. There was a sand patch nearby so I lay in it, careful to keep my fins up from touching the surrounding coral. And then, silly as it seems, I put it out there. I explained to the octopus that I had no intention of hurting her, or eating her or molesting her by pulling her out of her hole. I made my energy as small as possible and tried to tell her I was not a threat. I was in wonder of who she is, I wouldn't touch her or disturb her at all - I merely wanted to see her, to photograph her.

She peeked a black eye out of the hole's entrance and looked at me. I held very still, and yet, you just can't hide bubbles. But other than breathing, I was the epitome of peace.

In my experience, all octopus hide until you've gone, but this one got my message. She rose slowly, cautiously out of her safe haven and watched me watch her. After a few minutes, I chanced it and moved closer, taking photos.

The more she realized I wasn't a threat, the farther she came out of her hole until I could see all eight legs and watch her hearts beat, watch her breathe. She changed texture, but not color unless I moved another inch forward.

Soon we were about two feet from one another. I could see the individual chromatophors (color changing cells) on her skin. I was awestruck. Because, well, let me put it this way - on my official nametag as an employee of the Westin Hotel, under my name it states my passion as: cephalopods. I'm fascinated by them and here I was, having a staring contest with an older, more experienced, curious one.

They say octopus have a vivid memory and can recognize specific humans, even when those people change clothes.  I hope she remembers our agreement next time too.

The octopus allowed me to stay and hang out with her for half an hour. I felt blessed, ecstatic, grateful, and was the first one to leave. She obviously had important octo things to do, after all.

I find this same principle to be true while traveling. When there is a language barrier, it is the energy you exude that makes a connection, that tells someone if you are dangerous or safe.  Without speaking a word, you can be of peace, show your respect and make a new friend.

What Guiding Means

After working in close proximity and sharing office space with another dive company, I have been watching how others operate above and below the water. As a dive instructor, I have been struck by the huge variance in guides. And after shadowing my husband Tim today at his dive site, watching him lead dives and teach, I am inspired to write about it.

Google defines a guide as: “a person who advises or shows the way to others.” For many companies in our little section of land in the Pacific, a dive guide is someone who leads an underwater tour. As I have observed in the company working nearest to me, they go in at the same place, the same time, following the same routine: take a group in, swim with their back to the participants looking for some cool wildlife to show them, often handling said wildlife. Sometimes they do a dive briefing, sometimes they don’t. For some guides, the class is an opportunity for them to show you how much they know. So basically, a guide here on our island, with few rare exceptions, is a person who takes you in the ocean and points out cool stuff. There is nothing wrong with that kind of guide. Hundreds of people have had fun in the ocean with guides like that this year alone.

It’s just that what we do is entirely different.

Who we are at heart as well as our intensive training reflects in our guiding style. For Tim and I, a guide is someone who is with you from square one, addressing your concerns, tailoring the dive to your needs and abilities. A guide is someone who holds your hand if you are unsure, helps calm you down and gets you to breathe through the learning curve. A guide is someone who is watching so they can reach out and gently lift you before you skin your knee on corral. A guide is someone who teaches you not only the basics, but also in depth information about the physics behind what you are learning. They have studied what is harmful to the creatures of the sea and they don’t do that, they show you wildlife without harassing them, they inspire you to also protect what you love. But underwater, for us as guides, you are the number one priority. You may see great things while we are keeping you safe, but our attention is on you.

For us, a guide is someone who inspires, who believes you can do this, someone who encourages you and is proud of you for trying new things.  A guide is someone who monitors your air closely and increases your dive time by working with you to swim efficiently.  A dive with us is not just tagging along with a knowledgeable person, it is experiencing the ocean with someone who is there diving not for themselves, but diving for you. This is why it’s entirely different. How and where the group enters the water, how we weight you, the pace, the depth, all this is different every dive because we realize we are taking out individuals. 

For us, being a guide is a responsibility to our guests, but also to the ocean. We pick up trash when we see it, we stop people from touching turtles because we see the tumors that causes, we talk to people spraying on sunscreen that poisons the reef.

Sure, it’s a cool job and we get to work outside in a beautiful place, but for us, it’s more than that - we are caretakers of you and of the ocean.  I guess being a guide means a bit more to us than the average Scuba Steve - it’s about educating, encouraging, inspiring, watching over, assisting, believing in and yes, advising and enthusiastically showing the way to others.  

Feeling the Rain

Wind-generated waves rose up quickly as the storm hit us. I had called my divers early and explained that today would not be a safe nor fun day for diving as the visibility was then five feet and decreasing. Since I wasn’t diving, I used the extra time to walk the beach in the wind and collect Styrofoam, plastic, beer bottles, cans and trash.   

Now, with the storm full fold, I walked towards the beach to take a video of the impressive conditions. Waves were consistently crashing on the shore, the wind was howling and dark thunderclouds threatened rain at any moment. As I was taking a short clip of this craziness, I noticed four black spots in the water. People?! There were scuba divers coming in towards shore on the surface. I found this odd, as they were sinking and disappearing over the crest of every wave. Certainly, it would be more calm to swim in underwater, but perhaps the visibility was reduced to nil.  Quickly, I kicked off my shoes, tucked my phone in a dry location and ran to the beach to see if I could assist the divers' exit from the ocean. In the harsh conditions, they were getting pounded by the waves. The first diver lost his fin in the boiling sandy mess and his expression told me he was just going to let it go – it was more important to get to the safety of the beach. I blindly located his fin and retrieved it for him. The first two divers made it out okay, and the one looked surprised to see me as I handed him his fin. There was no one else on the beach. The tourists had gone in, and the rain was coming down steadily now, blown sideways by the wind.

I could see there was a woman in the group who had yet to make it out. She was getting tossed by the waves and pushed down every time she stood. Luckily, she had kept her regulator in her mouth so she could breathe as the sea churned over and around her. Their dive master was attempting to walk to her through hip high water, but with his fins still on, his progress was slow. Her eyes were huge and she was shaking as I offered to help. Together we each lifted an arm and braced to support her through the last persistent beating waves.

All the while, the scuba instructor for the hotel, Steve, stood above the beach taking a video for his own enjoyment, laughing. He’d rather watch amused and point fun at these people than help them. As I walked up to rinse the sand off he said, “You have too much compassion. I figure if they don’t have the sense to remove their fins, they don’t deserve my help.”

Well, that’s Steve for you.

As I rinsed my feet, he followed me, still talking. “I wasn’t going to help them, it’s too funny to watch. I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

“No,” I told him, “You wouldn’t. And you’re not sorry.”

He agreed but I didn’t look back at him after that.

Instead, I eyed this group’s leader/dive master curiously. Why were they out there? Why would he take a group out in limited visibility and huge waves like this? Enjoyment at that point had gone out the window and their safety had definitely been compromised. What could be more important than guests’ safety? As I watched him lead the group through the hotel grounds with a strange smile on his face, I knew the answer. Money.

Not at all the instructor I strive to be.

I returned for my shoes and as I looked around the beach, not a soul in sight due to the rain, it was cleaner because of my cleanup walks earlier that day and still beautiful. I watched the power of the sea in awe and mused that while Steve stood and laughed, I ran to assist. I suppose that’s what you call making a difference.

And it was only because I had run out to the shore to help these people that I saw them then – amongst the whitecaps, four whales were peeking over the water. At first I thought they were breaching, but they stayed still, somehow holding the top half of their enormous bodies out of the sea, above the waves, just balancing. I looked around me wildly for someone to show, someone to share with, but Steve was long gone and it was just me in the rain. I turned back and studied the whales, squinting in the thick downpour. What could they be doing? While the ocean churned around them, they were perched upright, holding still, faces up to the dark sky, feeling the rain, experiencing the other side.

The Power of Choice

As adults, we make thousands of choices everyday. Some are little - should I enter the turn lane now or go after that black car? Others are big - what career path do I want to begin next?
When you look up choice in the dictionary, Webster uses a very key word in the definition - "Power." We have the power to choose. And when we use this power, every choice we make starts to create our reality. Even in the most simple terms: you are in the room you are in now because you chose to walk into it. Where you are now is because of path you chose.

Sounds wide open, doesn't it? We all start out with this power to choose absolutely anything, but then we limit that power.  Our choices are swayed by internal variables like our beliefs (what we believe we are capable of, what we believe we deserve, etc.) and also external variables like our physical surroundings. I worked a lot in my twenties to become aware of all the variables that swayed my choices and to break free from them. I found that my decisions were often based around what society dictated the "right" thing to do was, the fear of not being accepted or liked for my decision, obligations I had accepted, and my past programming from parents, teachers and the dream of the planet. By getting outside of these molds, my choices ended up being more unconventional, having more possibility and were more my own. This helped me shape a life that is truly tailored to me.

On my latest trip to England and Scotland, I found one more huge variable I didn't realize still swayed my path: Attachment.
But before I tell you the story, I'd like to give you a visual to help extrapolate how these variables I am talking about narrow your choices, lesson your power.

So, let's say that every line on this page is a path you can choose next, a direction you could possibly go. Picking any line from the bottom of the image and heading up or out.
That's a lot of options for you to choose from.

Now let's add in the effects of past conditioning from your parents, your teachers, your role models. Your choices are affected by what they would do, what they have taught you is the safe route, the best route to go. Let's say the shaded red areas (in the image below) are all the choices you rule out because it wouldn't be in alignment of what you have learned, how you have been conditioned.  The lines in the white space remaining are the only choices you would make, naturally, not going against your conditioning into the red zone.

Next, let's add in your beliefs of what you think is possible for you. People rarely choose to undertake something they think is impossible, something they know is out of reach. Beliefs are something intangible that actually keep us from physically doing many things. (Ever been asked - what would you do if you thought nothing was impossible? Opens up a lot of choices, doesn't it? ;)
Let's say that the green shaded areas are paths that are off limits in your mind because you don't believe you can achieve them. See how that green color of belief blocks most paths from reaching as high as the page goes? Now your power of choice is limited to only the paths in the white space because you won't go against your conditioning, and you won't go against your beliefs. These internal aspects are limiting your power of choice to just a few center lines.

Okay, now let's say when you go to make your choice you hesitate because you feel obligated. This is the pink line. You will only choose the pink line as your path because you feel obligated to do something. All other options are ruled out because you are going to choose to do what you feel you have to.  Same goes with attachment. When you are attached to things going a particular way, you will only make choices that align with that one single direction, so you will only choose the single path illuminated in pink. See how powerful attachment can be, and how limiting?

Now here's one to fry your noodle before I move into the full story: You choose to accept obligations - you choose to allow someone to make you feel obligated or not. When someone is making you feel obligated, you no longer hold the power of choice, they do. They are steering your ship. Also, on some level or another, you choose to be attached to an outcome. The greatest limits are self induced.

On my last trip, I was reminded first hand of how much attachment affects my choices, and I was able to overcome this and choose again. This trip was a solo one, which I have found exhilarating in the past. But this time, something had changed, and I couldn't sleep. Not for a glaring reason, I wasn't stressed at first, I didn't have anything on my mind, there wasn't anything that was unresolved that kept me awake. I was happy and excited to be there and increasingly tired, but sleep alluded me. Those of you who know me well know I am ruled by sleep - with less sleep I have a tough time focusing, navigating, speaking coherently, and am not myself. Nights in a row without it in Europe and I had a hard time enjoying where I was. I tried so many different things - herbal remedies, sleepy teas, vigorous exercise, counting 2000 sheep, counting 2000 sheep backwards, reading, meditating,  even a pharmaceutical prescription to knock me out. Nothing touched it.

When traveling as a solo woman, you've got to be on your game: aware, focused, have a plan. Days without sleep and I wasn't meeting any of those requirements. And I was doing some big stuff too - renting a beast of a vehicle and driving on the opposite side of the road long distances to remote locations, navigating alone through the underground maze of public transportation all in a foreign place, etc.

After a week of just a few hours of quality rest, the insomnia was affecting my ability to have a good time, and I became very stressed out. It was an uncomfortable place to be. I thought that at this rate I'd need a week after I got home to catch up on sleep and relax, but worried it wouldn't be possible to take yet another week from work. In focusing on home - Maui - I couldn't think of anywhere more relaxing. And I realized, if I wanted to go home, I could. I didn't need to wait a week or keep moving forward just because my ticket dictated that. People change their flights all the time. Sure I was attached to seeing Scotland, but the state I was in surely wouldn't yield much enjoyment.

Sometimes we choose to do big things, we choose to take on huge responsibility, or big projects, and they don't always pan out. Sometimes they drain us instead of feed us, sometimes we aren't happy with our choice, and sometimes it's just not where we are supposed to be. That's okay. No matter what's invested, you can always make more money. Plans are just a course we follow until we choose another course. I realized that when I have money invested in something I feel obligated to stay.  Likewise, when I've invested a lot of time and energy in something that isn't working, I still feel obligated to stay. But time is even more valuable than money and is more finite. The present moment is one of the most valuable things we have. if you're not enjoying your time doing something, instead of looking back at where you've spent it, look to how you could enjoy it now and make another choice.

I think in the past I've been guilty of beating a dead horse going nowhere because I was so attached to where the horse was originally going. They say you either roll with life or you get run over. Rolling with it often involves being flexible. You're always free to choose something different. That's the power of choice.

As soon as I let go and chose to go home, everything became easier. Tickets were quick to reschedule and when I called to cancel the bookings for the next week, businesses were very understanding and refunded me. So although I had felt obligated to stay the plan because of all I had invested even if I was unhappy, it turned out that I lost nothing in changing my plan to go home where I could relax.
 
16 hours of flights later, when our plane descended through the storm clouds and I could see Maui out my window, I started to cry. I was overwhelmed with gratitude to live here, so incredibly happy to be coming back home here. I've taken countless journeys and come home to three states, but this time was different. Although I was often happy to return, I had never been this moved by seeing familiar landmarks.  I have been drawn to jungle places, and while flying in for the first time to explore tropical countries, I have wondered beyond the airplane window what it would be like to live there. Looking out this time, I remembered that curiosity, and felt so grateful that because of a choice I made, this beautiful tropical place is my home.

When we get outside of our attachments, we can more effectively use the power of choice. Our choices can be limitless - they don't have to be bound by our past programming, our social learning, obligations or even where we applied ourselves last. Only when you give yourself permission to let go, can you live into new possibilities. 

How about you? When you set out to make another big choice, pay attention to what comes up in the decision making process. One of the things I learned around all this is that every part of our self is with us because we choose to hold on to it. If you come up against limiting programing, or limiting beliefs consider re-writing them.  After all, the greatest limits are self induced. And, if you feel obligated to do something, definitely look into that obligation. Re-evaluate your attachment. It is ruling your choice and, as I have found this week, it doesn't need to.  Remember, you're the one steering this ship. No limits have to apply and no one else decides where you go, unless you let them.

The Pizza

Ah, traditional margarita pizza, made with buffalo mozzarella. The secret is all in the cheese. If done right, it should be squeaky between your teeth, boiling hot, floating in a homemade sauce of tomatoes you just saw in the kitchen whole - a pizza that blooms over the plate like a giant tomato garlic flower. This has become something of a tradition every time I come to Europe. I sat before a pizza like this in Italy fifteen years ago.  My, how I was different then. The pizza, oh the pizza's still the same of course.  But as I sit in front of it, I reflect on how the woman I am now is different from the girl I was on that first trip out of the country. I hadn't yet seen the world, so how could I know my place in it? I was just starting to learn who I was, I wasn't aware of my own value and therefore didn't defend it. I didn't have the confidence I do now. I had the makings of the adventuresome gutsy gal but hadn't grown into them nor explored the limits.

The last time I enjoyed a pizza like this it was my very first time outside of the states. As I sit before this pizza I reflect what I learned on that journey, and the journeys abroad since then and how they've helped me become who I am today. Many things in London are the same fifteen years later: the tube packed at rush hour, the double decker busses, the early morning bakeries with proper croissants. I return to this city changed by life, by experience, by the journeys. I turned 18 in this city. That night, I took a cab to a bar and ordered my first legal drink, 'Sex on the Green' (the Green is a large park here, and this drink is similar to 'Sex on the Beach,' but more polite). While waiting for said drink, the man next to me at the long wooden bar struck up a conversation. He was a musician, inspired, fun. This was big for me - to talk to a complete stranger, as I was still painfully shy and introverted. My sense of humor was the same but you'd never know it because we wouldn't get far enough into a conversation for me to joke with you before I retreated into my shell. I remember being struck by the creative spark in his eyes. I'd never spoke with a professional musician before and he reminded me of an artist, naturally.

Weeks later on a train through the Alps to Switzerland, my mind returned to the conversation and how inspired that man was in his chosen profession, I realized in a variety of ways, I wanted that. Where did that spark show up for me? When I was teaching someone. So I made a list of goals. Which was, I realize now, basically my 18 year old self talking to my older version in a journal. I wrote: #1 marry an artist  #2 become a teacher  #3 seek to understand and capture beauty.

I see her clearly, that young naive girl in a train, the rose bud yet to bloom. The essence is the same, but I've learned so many tips for traveling as the solo woman like: Always walk like you know where you're going. Don't count your money in public. Italy taught me don't make eye contact with men you don't know and smile. Don't arrive after dark and try to navigate. Never tell any man where you're staying, even in casual conversation. In a crowded subway,  put your back to the wall, hold hand over bag zipper. Never take a taxi after dark that doesn't say TAXI on the side. You know, the basics.

Since learning these things, London is more comfortable. And funny thing, as I know myself better, the world is also more comfortable too. I return to the same place as that girl, digging into the same incredible pizza, enjoying the same things in life, just with new eyes.  What ever became of that timid redhead? She grew up, found herself, became a teacher, met and married an amazing kind hearted creative artist, and is still traveling, still tinkering with the camera, most inspired when capturing beauty. Perhaps on the next train ride, it's time to make a list...to my next future self. I wonder what she'll be like?