“The sea hates a coward” -Eugene O’Neil

I found this on an overpriced-plate in a local boutique that targets middle-aged women. Usually decorative quotes on household items isn’t my thing. Which is unfortunate, because I’m from the south. And a Christian. And a female. And a Beck/ Menard descendant.

But this quote struck a chord. It wasn’t trying to affirm an insecurity or doubt. “The sea hates a coward”- it’s an insinuation that I’m lacking, already a coward who needs to toughen up; not an affirmation that I already know how to “live, laugh love,” that I already boldly “dance like no one’s watching.”
It rang true, like a warning. Like a challenge, a prove-this-wrong-if-you-dare.

My friend gave me a gift that has altered the entire course of my year, and arguably the rest of my life, in ways yet to be seen. I have one year to travel for free around the U.S., and almost free anywhere in the world. This quote is like a call I’m responding to in 2012- sprinting towards dreams and seeking out things I’m uncomfortable with (and that I’ll never want to try when I’m older, having lost the gumption and ignorance of being young). People tell me I’m brave. Which is silly, because I’m just as timid, but I just do the things I’m anxious about anyways.

Take snorkeling. You’d think growing up on the Gulf of Mexico, lifeguarding and drinking more salt water accidentally than fresh water intentionally, that snorkeling would be a piece of cake for me. Breathing under water is one of the most terrifying things to me.

A couple years ago, my friend Carissa and I rustled up some well-used snorkel gear to join a channel where local endangered turtles like to swim. As soon as I put on the goggles and snorkel, I started hyperventilating. In my freak-out, I wound up accidentally kicking a turtle, and promptly gave the whole thing up.

A couple weeks ago, I wound up in the Florida Keys with my friend Chris. I wanted to take on snorkeling a second time, but properly. We researched places, showed up an hour early, and joined an experienced crew that brought us 6 miles offshore into the Atlantic. I was enthralled by Sombrero Reef, a 30 acre protected area around a rusting, floating lighthouse.

Still trying to get used to a shortie wetsuit, I half somersaulted into the waves, and bobbed up gasping from the winter water. I couldn’t figure out the fins. My goggles were too loose, too foggy, and full of water. Apprehensive but unashamed, I snagged a pink pool floatie to help me calm down and gain confidence that I may survive the ordeal. After all first-timers and children were enjoying the coral and colorful fishies, I still hadn’t put my face in the water. When I did, I tried talking, with little success. Water got in through the top of the snorkel and I freaked. Instead of blowing out air, I tried sucking in water through the mouth piece, again with little success. I finally posed for a photo with the underwater camera, and instinctively smiled (and choked). Seems I could have learned a thing or two last year from Georgians who refuse to smile in photographs.This went on interchangeably for over an hour, as I kept swimming into and kicking the patient Chris, who is a certified scuba diver. Being within a couple feet of a handful of barracudas didn’t calm me down, either.

Most exhausting, stressful, gorgeous and enthralling experience in a long time. There was one moment when the current was swaying me back and forth that I noticed the fan coral was dancing to the same rhythm. For 20 cheesy, timeless seconds, I felt connected at the core to God and all creation in an entirely new and simple way. It was like magic.

I’ve already been battling for courage on the sea this year, and it’s barely February. I’m riding on finances that are the lowest I’ve worked with since puberty. I started a job that has extremely opposite and higher expectations for me than my last one. I’ve had to re-remember the girl I was a year ago, before I went to Georgia and changed in some ways that I’m not ok with. I’m struggling with going out a limb relationally, choosing ever so slightly to hope amidst swirling doubt that things do work out sometimes.

If you want to check in on my flitting around when you’re bored- even I barely remember where I am week to week- keep coming back here for more stories. Here’s to greeting every year, and especially the one at present, with strength that comes from God and surpasses our looniest daydreams!