Class of 2015
Where am I completely content?
I suit up in my tightly fitted camo wetsuit, fins, mask, and snorkel as my father and I approach our favorite dive spot. GoPro in hand, I eagerly jump in the dead-calm water. All thoughts wash away as the water metaphorically cleanses my body and mind. I willingly surrender control to the vast ocean.
Floating on the surface, the visibility is magnificent – the 55 feet to the bottom seems minimal as I clearly make out the vibrant sea fans and grouper-inhabited rock ledges. I look at my dive watch, close my eyes, and focus only on my breathing for two minutes – big breaths from the stomach and long exhales to maximize my lung capacity for this deep freedive. My heart rate slows. Once my blood is sufficiently oxygenated, I take my final voluminous breath, spit out my snorkel, and propel myself to the bottom.
At a sandy patch, my dive watch shows that 20 seconds have passed since my last breath. Ten feet from a reef, I spot a baby female hogfish. My GoPro captures the graceful fish as its smooth, sand-like skin transforms into gorgeous shades of red, orange, and brown to blend into a nearby rock.
My stomach convulses, signaling my need to breathe to dissipate the rising carbon dioxide in my blood. I check my dive watch: 40 seconds. A pod of bottlenose porpoises in the distance catches my eye. Adrenaline pumps through my blood at the thought of videoing and swimming with these majestic mammals, but I force myself to remain calm to preserve oxygen. Another convulsion…my diaphragm desperately expanding, trying to force me to breathe: 60 seconds.
Finally, the fish are close enough that I know I can capture rare footage of the graceful animals in their natural element. Another sharp convulsion forces me to begin to ascend, but before I give up this rare opportunity, I flip my body around, point the camera, flash a quick smile – the ultimate selfie.
Breaking the surface, I gasp for the first bit of air in 90 seconds and perform the standard surfacing routine: 10 big inhales and exhales, then the customary dive sign for “I’m OK.” Not aware yet that I have just broken my personal best dive time, I float, smiling ear-to-ear.
I have two different personalities – land and water. On land, I have countless thoughts racing through my head – English paper on Huck Finn…lacrosse team tryouts… AP exams looming. From commanding my defense unit in a game against our rivals to leading a pig dissection lab, I am a natural leader who thrives on control and competition. In these settings, I am motivated not just to be better than others, but also to be the best I can be and inspire those around me to strive for the same. Underwater, I happily succumb to the serenity, comfortable loneliness, and profound powerlessness of freediving. I think only about one thing – breathing. Here, I have no competition, no control over what happens: if a shark threatens me, if a pod of dolphins passes me by, or even if the weather becomes threatening – mother nature is in control. With no distractions, freediving acts as a respite from my hectic life; it cleanses my mind and provides me with a fresh, clearheaded perspective. I return to land empowered, and I look forward to tackling whatever is demanded of me in the week ahead.
A yin to my normal yang, freediving takes me to a sacred place that rewards me with the inspiration, clarity and balance that I now depend on.
