A. K. Snyder - Turtle Envy: How Facing the Fear of Diving Added New Adventures in Life and New Depths in Love: Own Your Path, #2

Copyright 2020 by A. K. Snyder

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ISBN 978-1-7343886-2-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7343886-1-9 (ebook)

aksnyderbooks.com

Published by Wandering River Press

Tampa, Florida

wanderingriverpress.com

My husband Jer waits for me in the water.

I check my air, hold my mask and weights, and take a long stride into the ocean.

I signal that everything is okay, and together, we descend.

This is one of our favorite dive spots,

Pleasure Reef off the Florida Keys.

At depth, I check on Jer and he checks on me.

All calm, neutral buoyancy reached, we swim to the reef.

Back and forth and a bit forward,

the water moves me,

now motionless, arms and feet still,

camera rolling.

I join the school of yellow-tail snapper,

silvery-wisps gilded in bright yellow,

big eyes alert for danger.

Together, we sway with the current.

To my left, the school splits.

Yellowtails swipe left, right,

a parting of the silvery sea.

All the signs of a predator.

I point the camera and wait,

and here she comes.

Lovely wide eyes, broad flat nose.

Nurse shark.

The school scatters.

I move only with the water,

motionless me, arms and feet still,

camera rolling.

She approaches, swishes right to avoid me.

Her skin, gray, but dragon gray,

with embedded crystals of purple and diamond, the skin of a creature that belongs in a fantasy world.

Motionless me, camera rolling,

I do my best to capture footage of this fantasy world.

I have fallen in love with the undersea,

the ocean only divers experience.

Carnival-inspired reefs,

eels and crabs and sharks,

and best of all, an underwater city of sea turtles.

Two years ago, I would have sworn,

never,

not ever,

not if you paid me a million dollars,

would I be a scuba diver.

Its good to be wrong.

Newlywed status brings newlywed pressure.

Even though Jer and I have been together for five years,

even though he says he doesnt want anything for his birthday,

even though Ive set the bar laughably low during previous gift-giving events, this is his first birthday as my husband, and I want to get him something he likes for once.

Something to beat last years lame cooking class that he pretended to appreciate. And the beer kit he eventually learned to brew. And the remote control helicopter, still brand new in the box. (Any buyers? Ill cut you a deal.)

This year, Im not guessing.

Jer, what do you think of scuba lessons for your birthday?

Weve talked of it before. His love of fish.

A great way to make friends in our new city. Revel in our new Tampa lifestyle, far from the frozen tundra of Fargo we used to call home.

Sounds interesting, he says. You still dont want to try it, though, right?

I know I should want to. I love a great adventure.

Fill a backpack and go exploring.

Paddle the boundary waters of wild Minnesota.

Paraglide in the Andes.

Whitewater raft in Bolivia.

Name an adventure and Im in.

Except scuba diving.

The very mention of it makes me cringe,

gear covering my mouth and nose,

endless water overhead, trapping me below,

air embolisms and paralysis from surfacing too quickly,

tanks that could run out of air at any moment,

an endless list of things that could go wrong and no way to fix them and no way to call for help and no way to get air and Id be trapped underwater, unable to breathe and unable to surface, trapped, trapped, trapped.

No.

I will never, not ever, be a scuba diver.

Maybe you could convince Bob to get lessons, I offer.

Dont buy anything yet, he says. Let me talk to him.

In the weeks following his birthday, Jer and Bob certify as open-water divers. They have been friends since elementary school, and their friendship has new life now that they share a state.

They quickly drop a pile of cash on new gear, and Jer shows me his remaining gear wishlist. I am covered for years of birthdays.

Want to go to the Keys this weekend? Jer asks. His brown eyes glitter with excitement.

Yes. The answer is always yes.

Lie on the beach, write, eat Key Lime pie. My days are happily spent while they dive.

I appreciate dive weekends. A scenic five-hour drive to the Keys, a five-hour drive back, weekend after weekend. Uninterrupted hours as Jer and Bob dive. The peaceful getaway is always worth it.

In a few months, Jer and Bob certify as Advanced and Nitrox-ready.

After each adventure, the three of us hit the bar.

There was a massive grouper behind this rock, musta been bigger than me. And when I got up close, I saw it had a huge eel friend, six feet long at least.

At one point, nurse sharks surrounded me, just serenely gliding by.

Stingrays everywhere!

Jer pulls out the plastic-coated ID cards. We saw this spiny lobster and this monster crab.

Im happy for him.

Thrilled for him.

His new hobby.

His new passion.

His new way to meet people and explore our new state.

And I am still never, not ever, going to be a scuba diver.

On a hot Sunday afternoon, Jer, Bob, and I settle into chairs by the water. Hog Heaven is a favorite restaurant post-dive. Good local beer and a quiet spot on the ocean where herons stalk the mangroves and the waves lap gently against the dock.

Jer is jubilant. We dove with sea turtles today.

He shows me photos, him floating next to a four-foot green sea turtle.

Theres something about sea turtles that is magical, impossible.

The sturdy survivors of meteors and millennia.

Solitary protectors of themselves, independent with thick shells.

But still calm. Quiet. Beautiful.

To dive with turtles, to be close to these ancient peaceful creaturesenvy fills me.

Jer sees my envy and tries to soften it. You can snorkel sometimes, he offers. Come out on the boat with us. Be a bubble watcher.

Cold springs, coral reefs, shipwrecks.

Jer dives them all. Every free weekend, a new adventure.

I love adventures, but I am not having many of my own. Maybe I could experience just a taste if I snorkel.

While Jer and Bob dive one morning, I book myself on a snorkel tour.

A true Pisces, Im at home in the water, a strong swimmer.

But that stupid plastic snorkel is horrible.

Every gurgle, every small amount of water infiltrating the snorkel, I pop my head up and spit saltwater and cough.

Face down in the water, I take in the stunning beauty of the reef below me. Breathe in, out.

The movement of the schools and currents, incredible.

Breathe in pop up, spit, and cough.