Attachment

A day of chasing fish learning about attachment.

Today, I took my last dive to become open-water certified.

If you’ve ever been underwater it is surreal. Nothing but blue ocean around you, it feels like you’re floating in space, you can’t breathe through your nose, you rely on the contraption in your mouth to feed air in when you take a breath, the vastness of the ocean encompasses you, the space endless as though nothing exists. There is no talking, only breathing — in and out. Surrounded by the vast blue.

Down in the bottom of the ocean, we spotted the most beautiful fish. Giant purple fish with stripes across their sides. More than 10, swimming as a school. We swam after them. Against the current of the ocean pushing back providing resistance. It feels like you’re going nowhere.

My excitement was at an all-time high, I wanted to swim with the fish, to keep them in my sight.

We swam for 6 minutes chasing them. Against the force of the ocean.

Chris, the dive instructor, stops me to take a break. Stopping forces me to realize I’m out of breath. And I’m underwater. I can’t breathe. My eyes get wide as I gasp in water. I can’t breathe. I have to get out. I can’t breathe underwater. Chris grabs my hand and signals for me to calm down. My brain panics. I have to get out. I look up. We’re too deep. Out is not an option. I continue to panic. I try to breathe. I try to breathe. In, out. In, out. It doesn’t feel like enough. I have no choice. In, out. Chris asks if I’m ok. No. In, out. In, out.

It gets better. It’s not enough air but it’s better. Better is good. Better is one step towards safety.

The rest of the dive is spent trying to catch my breath. Trying to relax.

Attachment is chasing fish.
Forgetting we are in the water.
When we remember, it’s terrifying.
We want to get out.
Breathing is the only way out.

Back on shore, I shared the analogy — Chris asked: “but chasing the fish was fun, no?”

It was fun.