When my face broke the surface, I was gasping for air.  The water was cold, and unexpectedly so since it was the middle of the summer.  I splashed around in a panic.  I could say that I was just startled by the temperature, but that would not be the truth.

I have been afraid of swimming in the ocean since I was quite young and I know why – the ocean is endless and, in some ways, unknowable.  I cannot help but feel consumed by its enormity.  For someone who often responds to inquiries about future career paths with “marine biologist,” this seems paradoxical.  But I see it another way.

I am fearful because I respect the power of the ocean and all of the creatures it holds in its depths.  And some good old-fashioned, healthy fear of something does not mean that there is no love for that thing.  For the ocean is also the place in which I am perfectly content.

Descending from the turbulent surface, I am calm.  The water does not slap my face or sting my nose.  Air escapes from my regulator, hissing and racing to the surface as perfect silver spheres.  The ocean is endless, but it feels safe now.  The depths of the ocean are a refuge from the chaos of the surface and a place of serenity.

This is the last dive in order to complete my advanced open water certification.  The final stop is one hundred and eight feet.  We pause to test for nitrogen narcosis, which can addle any unsuspecting diver’s brain at depth.  My dive buddy is the first victim.  Parker cannot add the two fingers our instructor held up on his left hand with the two on his right and respond by holding up four of his own.  Instead, he holds up three.  I am not too worried, though, because his state is transient, and I am transfixed, observing the elegance of the two hammerhead sharks that swim slowly below us, long bodies moving back and forth; the vigor of the hundreds of brightly colored butterfly fish weaving in and out, swirling and racing; and the simple magnificence of the brain coral cemented to the adjacent reef wall.  Life is everywhere.  The sea thrums with energy even at a depth to which few humans will ever venture.

Few colors were visible there.  Out of the visible light spectrum, ROY had disappeared, leaving only GBIV, the greens and blues.  Red begins to fade at 15 feet.  Orange and yellow are gone by 30.  The longer wavelengths of the weaker colors prevent them from reaching very far.  It is surprising, but true, that the passing of these colors does nothing to dim the splendor of this place.  I am at peace, residing at the intersection of adventure and otherworldly beauty.