Facing an Ocean of Fear

I’ve been blogging for my clients for several years, but now that it is time for me to start my own blog, I’m experiencing the writer’s equivalent to pants-wetting stage fright. I have no brand to hide behind. It’s just me. Hello!

But I decided I can’t wait any longer.  It’s time to write right now.  My husband, Marco, and I have just finished moving from a house on the Pacific Ocean at Playa la Barqueta, Chiriquí, Panama. The boxes and clothing are piled around me, the house is a wreck. It’s as good of a time as any. Today I will begin to document my life of Sweet Delirium. Here it goes.

What do you do when facing an ocean of fear?

If there is a beach within hearing distance, I am called to it, so when circumstances gave us the opportunity to live on the Pacific for a few months, I was thrilled.

My fellow expats and Panamanians will know that Playa la Barqueta is not a safe. More than a few careless locals and transplants have met their ends in its violent currents, and coming from the tame Gulf Coast of Florida, I was awestruck by the power and size of the waves. It didn’t stop me from going out in them, though. Anything that would bring me closer to the ocean, I would try.

Uh, something just touched my foot.

So I grabbed the kiddie boogie board left in my landlord’s laundry room. Marco came with me and served as my lifeguard. As we walked in, we felt the ocean tugging at us. The waves towered and pounded, as if trying to say, Umm, aren’t you a little ill equipped?

I thought it might be a careless idea. Barqueta is isolated. There is rarely another soul in sight and the closest hospital is a bumpy forty-minute drive away.

But I was determined to be one with the ocean and so I paddled out to beyond the stampedes of bucking white foam.

I discovered that most of the waves petered out before I got going, and more than enough battered me around like an old sneaker in a washing machine.

To capture a decent wave, I had to paddle out to the deep where I felt vulnerable and small. Where, like my husband so usefully pointed out to me, the sharks were waiting to catch the fish that came in with the tide.

After skidding onto the shore, I stood up and turned around to find Marco. He was bracing himself against the surf. A large wave curled up behind him. The sunlight shone behind it, illuminating it like a giant wall of aquamarine glass. Inside it was the menacing black silhouette of a large fish.

I chose to believe it was a big corvina, but my uneasiness was getting harder to ignore as I floated on my little board, my legs dangling like shark bait.

I often waited in the trough of a giant wave with tons of water swelling in front of me, thinking, This is nuts! I don’t belong here. I am a little human at the mercy of Nature.

But the life’s rewards are never found where it is safe. It’s in that murky area where mystery and fear dwell that one catches the biggest wave.

Body surfing in Playa la Barqueta was not always pleasant recreation. I swallowed gallons of sour seawater. A constant stream of salty snot dripped over my lips. Black sand collected in my bathing suit and the boogie board left a stinging rash where it grated at my stomach. Whenever I surfaced for air, the waves would plaster my drenched hair over my face, suffocating me with a lovely panic-inducing, waterboarding effect.

But once in awhile, all was aligned and I was in the right place at the right moment. The wave was ready and the magic happened. The water would catch the board, lifting it and kicking it with a burst of force. I was propelled to the shore screaming, Wooooooo-ooooh!

I became obsessed with that feeling.

At night, as I slept to their thunderous clapping, I would dream about those waves. They would loom like threatening tsunami gods, ready to slam me down to the sea floor. But the awe and thrill always trumped the terror. I was always more exhilarated than scared.

Work and travel prevented us from enjoying the beach as much as we would have liked. It was time to move back to the mountains.

On the last day I was determined to catch a few last waves. Marco was exhausted and fell asleep on the couch. I was tired and had a million things to do, but it was low tide. I couldn’t miss it. I would have to go alone. I smeared on some sunblock, pulled on my speedo, and headed for the shore.

Tucked under my arm was the new board I had bought, essentially a large piece of Styrofoam. I slapped on the Velcro wristband, leapt onto the board, and stroked out to the breakers. I saw a stingray leap out of the dark blue water and I was reminded that I was not alone. It was me, the crashing water, and the predators stalking below its reflective skein.

Still I went into the waves, and the longer I rode them, the more benevolent the ocean and all its creatures, even the sharks, seemed. I made my goodbyes to Barqueta, catching a few good speeding surfs, woo-hooing like a lunatic all the way to the desolate shore. I left that beach with a sense of triumph and a wicked sunburn, which as I write this has me shedding dead skin like a molting iguana.

Now I know why surfers will spend the whole day floating beyond the breakers, and in life we must do the same.

We must swim out to where we feel uneasy, to where we fear a shark might chomp off our foot, or where the current might whisk us away to the Galapagos. We must be brave and courageous.

Only where the big waves break is where we get our chances.

We might have spent time and energy on an idea that got us nowhere, or we may be pummeled by going into a situation that is over our heads, but one day, if we keep swimming out and waiting long enough, we catch the perfect wave that coasts us effortlessly to the warm and welcome sands of the shore.

I keep paddling out into the ocean of life on my little board, waiting for the perfect wave to meld with me into one charging force.

In the meantime, I will continue to get beat-up when I wipe out. I will be discouraged when I waste time chasing a lost cause. But I will still trudge out against the tide. I will push back out to the depths.

So here is my first blog. I’m a little scared about exposing myself, but the thrill of harnessing the power of a dream is more enticing than my fear of drowning (or making an ass of myself).

My wave is coming, and believe me, yours is too.

Please share your thoughts!

How do you face your fears?

What was one of your scariest experiences?

What great reward have you received from conquering your fear?

Don’t forget to share with your friends.