What’s Waiting on the Other Side of Fear (& the Sea Turtles that Saved Me)

Project 365, Day 65/365

I am a person who is constantly full of fear. If I drew up a diagram of what my insides were made of, it would be 25% organs and veins, 25% blood and water, 50% fear. I don’t necessarily just mean I’m afraid to take chances, or afraid to speak my mind. I mean literal, crippling fear. It’s one of the biggest thorns in the side of my marriage with Charles, because, you see, my fear regularly keeps him from living, too, out of respect for me and my apprehension.

I can remember back to a few weeks after we arrived in LA. It was Memorial Day weekend, and we had decided to head out to a beautiful stretch of rocky beach north of Malibu I had read about. In my mind, I am very adventurous. I want to explore the world, experience everything. But when the rubber meets the road, I’m a knee-knocking-legs-of-a-baby-deer type of person. And I hate that about myself.

When we got out to the beach, I quickly realized that we’d need to climb down a considerable number of sandy, creaky wooden steps to get to the water. My mind exaggerates the height, but let’s call it at least 50 feet. For someone who is not great with heights, it might as well have been 5,000 feet.

Near the entrance to the stairs that were somehow installed right into the side of the mountain (let me not lead you down the path of terror that filled my mind when I saw that), there were some very smooth boulders you could stand on to look out and below you. I didn’t come so much as 20 feet near those boulders. I could see everything when I got down…why would I need to perch my clumsy body near the edge of what in my eyes was a slippery, dangerous cliff? I looked down for a moment at my feet and by the time my eyes hit the horizon, Charles was there…perched near the edge of a slippery, dangerous cliff. WHY?!? My mind was full of visions of him plummeting, the sand underfoot not letting his boat shoes grip the already slick rock. I ran up to him and grabbed the back of his shirt…as if that would somehow save him or us should the worst happen.

Of course, the worst didn’t happen. He was fine. He was “in control” as he always says, but he moved away from the view, to please me. This story unfolds more times than I’d like to admit, just with different details. The time there were fires in the Los Angeles National Forest, and I cried hysterically to Charles not to go with his friends in that direction to work on a photo project he got invited to assist on. Or the time when he went out on the boat with friends while I was away on a business trip…friends I knew regularly drank a little too much and could get reckless…and I spent half the day praying he’d come back to me alive. Dramatic, I know. What he came back with? A video of a school of dolphins happily frolicking in the wake. He remembers that day fondly often.

You see, Charles is immensely responsible, and he reminds me of this all the time. Had someone on the boat been drinking too much, he would have made sure to stay clear of mind in case he needed to put himself in charge. If he thought he and his photo friends were in any sort of danger, he would demand they turn back around. That “cliff” I envision in Malibu was really not as steep as my mind makes it out to be, and he swore he was at least several feet from the edge. Charles doesn’t see life through the same eyeballs as I do. Mine look like the readout of a pair of spy binoculars, with DANGER, DANGER, ALERT, ALERT warnings flashing at any given moment. The scenes from Final Destination constantly playing out in my mind for everyday activities.

Beautiful things, beautiful life, is waiting on the other side of our fears.

I wasn’t always this way, at least I don’t think. Somewhere along the way, my brain turned from “yay, isn’t this fun?!?” to “okay…when is this going to turn on us?” I can pinpoint an event that I’m not going to go into right now, but the truth is, I was like this before then, too. You might be reading this, thinking “Oh Arlyn, that’s anxiety, get help,” and you wouldn’t be wrong. Another part of it, I realize, was inherited from my mother. That incredibly strong, wonderful woman has also always been filled with fear…that something terrible was around the corner for her children. That something could happen that she couldn’t control. Oh mom. That kind of thing sticks to you, absorbed through osmosis, I realize now.

But this story isn’t all bleak and doomsday. I wanted to tell it because of the following story. You needed some context. Because there’s hope. It’s a story I replay in my mind every time I’m afraid. A reminder that beautiful things, beautiful life, is waiting on the other side of our fears.

Two Christmases ago, Charles and I traveled to Barbados to spend the holiday with his family. They wanted to escape the brutal winter of the Northeast and found refuge in the Caribbean. We broke from the tradition of spending Christmas with my family, and traded in cookie baking and waiting up for Santa (I have young nephews) for literal paradise.

His cousin who had been to Barbados on a previous vacation recommended we go on an excursion to snorkel with the sea turtles while we were there. Sounds simple enough, yes? Wrong.

The ocean is a very scary place to me. I don’t mind getting in at the beach, maybe up to about my hips, but then it’s time to go back. Surely a shark/jellyfish/demon was waiting to destroy me once water passed my waistline. So the idea of getting on a boat to head out to the ocean in search of sea turtles was a lot for me to handle. Charles said he was going with or without me. I had committed to just staying back at the house we rented, probably with the older people. I was comfortable staying back with those who felt too old for adventure. I never quite felt young enough for it, if I’m being honest.

The truth was: I just had a general fear…of all of it.

While inside, I felt resolute enough that I wasn’t going to go, I would waver outwardly to the younger crowd of cousins and siblings. I used the excuse that I got seasick easily. Sometimes I changed the story and just said I didn’t like boats (not a lie). But Charles would always meet my eye. He could see the lie sitting there. He knew me better than to believe those tales I was cooking up for others. The truth was: I just had a general fear…of all of it. Hell, I was even afraid of the sea turtles.

At night, he’d try to change my mind. Tell me I’d regret missing something so beautiful if I didn’t go. “When are you going to be in Barbados again, with the chance to swim with sea turtles?” he’d say to me, in the dark of our bedroom, the sound of an A/C buzzing in the background that was a total sham. All sound, no actual cool air. His gentle prodding was always supportive. If I stayed behind, I knew he wouldn’t be angry, more upset that I let myself give into my fear. As a reminder, it was a fear untethered…nothing was actually on the other side of the rope. A whole bunch of nebulous “danger” I brewed up in my mind. Of unknown hazard or peril.

Finally, the day came that I had to make a choice. His cousin had to RSVP the seats on the boat the afternoon before, and my wavering (real or fraud) had to still itself. I said I’d go before I could talk myself out of it, and I spent the remaining hours of the day and the whole set of the next morning with knots in my stomach, convinced the pit in my gut was destiny telling me to back out. Maybe I could just pay for the seat on the boat, but not actually go was a thought I entertained many times. Surely, the money would be worth it when I didn’t end up dead or…whatever it was that I actually thought would happen. How could I break it to Charles that I was going to back out? He’d be bothered, but I wasn’t going to stop him this time. Actually, he wouldn’t let me stop him this time.

Before I knew it, somehow, I was clasping the belt of a life jacket around my waist. I was in, whether I liked it or not.

It was an hour-long car ride to the west side of the island to get to the catamaran we were supposed to take out to sea. The cousins were chatting and having fun while I sat still, quieting my mind, watching nothing but the blur out the window. Thank goodness the rental car had air conditioning, because I may have fainted in the backseat without it. What was I doing? Why had I gone back on my gut feeling that this just wasn’t for me? Again, I could still back out. Until I step foot on the boat, I had an out. I could fake a backache…a stomachache (didn’t have to fake that, though)…a migraine? Maybe just general “woman issues” would surely be free pass to sit at the beach waiting for everyone to come back. But before I knew it, somehow, I was clasping the belt of a life jacket around my waist. I was in, whether I liked it or not.

Several prayers went through my mind. Surely if I prayed hard enough, I wouldn’t die that day. A sea turtle wouldn’t eat me (look, I know how ridiculous that sounds…), a freak storm wouldn’t roll in, taking us out to a dark, deep ocean. No one would have a freak accident…welcome to being me. Sounds fun, huh? Anytime I felt afraid, which was the whole first part of the trip out, I’d clasp Charles’ hand and try to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” he had told me in our room that morning before heading out. I chose to believe him, because there was no proof to suggest otherwise in the 14 years we’ve been together.

Rum punch was passed around the boat by the captain, a convivial man, barefoot, bobbing and weaving with every move of the boat. This was his turf, and the confidence he wore out there in the water was greater than any I’d ever had on land. He does this every day, I convinced myself. I would have asked myself “what could go wrong?” but I always have an answer for that so…I try not to do that because I won’t win.

I did my best impersonation of a person who was enjoying themselves. I didn’t want Charles to sniff the panic bubbling up inside me and risk him feeling like he had to take care of me. Had I read Glennon Doyle’s book Untamed at that point, I would have chanted “I can do hard things” over and over again in my head, but I didn’t have that tool at the time, so instead, I just kept envisioning being back on the sand, done with the trip. That’s typically my coping mechanism.

About 30 minutes in, the boat came to a stop, and they started passing around snorkels and goggles. I asked Charles under my breath “when was the last time you think they disinfected these?” He smiled back at my quiet quandary, probably trying not to ruin the time by bothering to be annoyed with me. The saltwater does something…right? RIGHT?!? Pre-COVID days were wild, folks.

Snorkel and goggles strapped to my face, I grabbed the hand of the captain as I climbed down the boat ladder into the crystal clear Caribbean. The color of that water is still branded into my brain folds. I’ve never seen anything so turquoise, sparkly, glorious. I couldn’t tell you how far the bottom was, but I could tell you that I could see it. Charles grabbed my hand in the water as we used our legs to paddle out a little away from the boat in a group of about 15 or 20. Our captain leaped off the edge, diving into the water like someone who had been doing it all their life, and gestured us all to gather.

I can’t remember what he said exactly, but the message was the following: do not touch the turtles. This was their home, and we were visitors…strangers. We were there to observe, not to disturb. If a turtle came up to one of us, we were to let them but try not to move. They wouldn’t hurt us, but that wasn’t the fear. The fear was be that we would hurt them.

We all started dipping our heads under water, testing out the breathing on the snorkels. I kept choking, not able to breathe. I wasn’t the only one. Charles kept gasping for air when he’d come back up. The captain saw us all struggling and said to just trust the snorkel. Take in a deep breath and learn that you weren’t going to drown. Try telling someone who suffers from constant “I’m on the verge of death” thoughts to “trust” a “snorkel” and “just breath.”

But guess what…it worked. And as soon as I could stay underwater long enough to actually open my eyes and look around, I was mesmerized. Every ounce of fear that had been bottled up inside me for days were lost at sea. It was another world down there. The fish and the turtles gliding through the water as if they were flying, flippers and fins acted as wings, catching the currents. The first turtle I spotted had me transfixed. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was just there, in their home, floating around like a discombobulated loon while they FLEW LIKE ANGELS IN WATER. It’s still hard to put to words what I felt inside bobbing around with an unknown universe beneath my feet.

The wonder on Charles’ face that day was worth the trip out there alone. Even if I had never seen a single turtle, if I had seen him seeing those sea turtles, I would remember it forever. But I didn’t just see Charles’ face. I saw the world that lives out in the salty, sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean. The turtles were everywhere. It was what I imagine it must feel like to be a labrador retriever set loose in a park full of balls and children and picnics. What do you look at first? What do you experience first? HOW COULD I HAVE ALMOST MISSED THIS?

By our second stop, it was as if I had been born out in the ocean. Me and the water were one. I was daring to go deeper, explore more. I didn’t need Charles’ hand anymore. I was holding my own hand, trusting myself. I was free. I was going to be okay.

After we were back on land, it was all we could talk about. When we got back to Florida to see my family before heading back to Los Angeles, it was all we could talk about. When we got back to Los Angeles, it was all we could talk about.

How else had I missed out on living because of the fear monster that inhabits my head and heart too often? What had I even been afraid of?

The two people who had walked off that boat into the Caribbean Sea were not the same people that walked back on an hour later. At least I wasn’t. All I could think of (besides turtles) was what else I had let fear stop me from experiencing. How else had I missed out on LIVING because of the fear monster that inhabits my head and heart too often? What had I even been afraid of? When I realized I had no answer for myself, it was like an epiphany.

Part of me thinks I needed to live that experience going into 2020. A year that needs no introduction. When I found myself afraid and couldn’t pinpoint what it was all about, I transported my mind back to Barbados. To the turtles. The heavy coat of fear I often carry around my shoulders feels like a lighter cardigan when I go through that exercise. I wasted half my vacation fearing what would turn out to be the most wonderful part of it.

I share this story with vulnerability. It’s not easy to admit how my brain thinks, how it’s afraid of all.the.things, but I know I’m not alone. And if my turtles taught me anything, it’s that the things we fear the most never turn out to be what we thought. The idea of something scary is always the scariest part.

There’s that famous saying: “Everything you want is waiting for you on the other side of fear.” I’m learning, slowly but surely, how to be brave enough to walk through that fear to the life that happens over there. And that life can be so, so beautiful. And freeing.

See you tomorrow, friends.