In an attempt to face my fear of dying a tragic death by drowning, I finally made the decision to step into the deep, dark abyss that is the Pacific Ocean. In many Washington coastal towns, surfing is the primary activity of the college drop-outs and snarky old hippies. They are the carefree, fearless saltwater-junkies who permeate the coastal surfing elite. I made up my mind that I was going to learn how to surf knowing full well that this was going to be one of the most frightening experiences of my life.

I have been afraid of water ever since I almost drowned back in 1995. I had been with a friend, jumping off a dock in Puget Sound. I dove in deep, somehow getting my legs caught in seaweed ten feet underwater. I remember feeling like time had stopped; I attempted to untangle myself, wondering if this was where my life would end. I managed to get free and swim to the surface, only to join the masses of crazy people who share endless lists of phobias. Water became my great trepidation. I wouldn’t go near a hot-tub without my bright orange “floaties.”

I made the decision to deal with my fear of water when I met my “ex-pat” hippie friend, John Swallart. John had spent years living in grass huts in the Hunan province of China, surfing by day and acid tripping by night. He decided to retire from his life of leisure when he was found half-dead in a ditch from a high gone wrong. He has since made millions of dollars selling sandals manufactured from organic materials. John is the one who told me to “get over it, and get wet!” He inspired me to face my fears. I had spent the last fifteen years in a semi-panicked state having had many nightmares of my demise down in the tangled, finger-like reeds. I decided to turn over a new leaf and conquer my fear; I refused to accept the fearful plight of humanity.

What is it about experiencing fear, be it completely mesmerizing or just a slight annoyance, that makes a person lose their ability to be rational? Perhaps it is the myth of losing one’s capability to choose how to react to danger. Obviously a man who is afraid of heights can choose to step out on a balcony and look down, but does he know that he is capable of this or is he just too stupid to make the decision? I wonder if it is achievable to overlook the first hint of danger as merely an anomaly, a glitch in our ability to react to a situation — like déjà-vu, or a frozen computer screen. In my case, the water was my heights, the long board was my balcony, and my fear was paralyzing. Fortunately for me there was someone with me who threatened to pick me up and toss me into the water at the first sign of reluctance.

I ornamented myself in full surfer attire. I wore a head to toe wetsuit, water shoes, wetsuit cap, and yes, floaties — just in case. I looked like a deformed seal. John was with me, leading me into the water by the hand and holding my long board with his other arm. I stopped a few times, completely gripped by old terrors, memories of past nightmares, and all of those feelings that make you want to stop trusting anyone and anything. John continued to coax me deeper into the water, telling me about his own problems in “the good ole’ days,” before A.A., and before he had to pay outrageous taxes. Somehow, I made it to where I was up to my neck in water — it happened so fast. I was on the long board, clinging for dear life, coasting towards the beach. As if my whole life were meant for this moment, I felt all of my fear wash away with the waves and salty mist beneath me.