I am participating again in the Follow-The-Sentence Blog Hop. If you’d like to add a post to this fun weekly hop, click on the FTSF button in my sidebar and it will take you to the link-up of one of our hosts. This week’s prompt is:
When I was younger, I tried…
..scuba diving. And I failed miserably at it. I didn’t drown or anything, but I probably would have, had the scuba instructor ever let me out of the pool where we were learning. I had always wanted to try scuba diving. I had snorkeled several times during some childhood family vacations and I absolutely loved it. I was fascinated by the endless varieties of fish that swam past me like I was one of them, and not a giant invader to their waters.
So when my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Hawaii eighteen years ago (yikes, that was a long time ago!), we had the opportunity to learn scuba diving right at our hotel.
“Let’s do that!” I said, still flying from our newlywed status and confident that we were about to embark on a lifetime of adventures together.
“Sure, okay, that sounds cool,” my husband replied in his usual laid back way.
We registered to take the in-pool scuba lesson the next day with a group of other hotel guests and honeymooners. Once you passed the pool part of the course, you could go right out into the ocean the same day. Sounded easy enough to me. I was a strong swimmer and had always loved the water so I didn’t foresee any obstacles.
Until I put on the oxygen tank and breathing mask. Each time I submerged myself in the water with the mask on, I started to have a mini panic-attack in the pool.
“I can’t do this, “I complained to my husband. “I feel like I’m going to inhale all the water if I actually breathe through the mask.”
I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that you could breathe under water. My mind would not let me do it.
My husband had no issues at all and passed the pool test with flying colors.
I felt like the remedial student left back a grade. The instructor tried to work separately with me for a few minutes, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it.
Everyone graduated out of the pool that day, except for me. Oddly enough, I wasn’t humiliated. I was actually a little relieved even, because the thought of going into the ocean, submerging deep below the surface, and not being able to breathe, completely freaked me out.
My husband asked if I was okay with him joining the group for the ocean scuba experience and I said, “Sure, have fun.”
I went back to the pool, read my book, and waited for him.
When he returned, he told me all about the amazing fish they saw and the giant sea turtles that swam along side them. Maybe it was the turtle story that made me crack. I love sea turtles and to see one up close would have been a dream for me.
I burst out crying.
My husband could barely understand me between my sobs, but I finally calmed down enough to explain to him, that yes, not only was I a little jealous of what he experienced, but I was really upset that we weren’t able to experience it together.
“It’s our honeymoon and we’re supposed to do everything together and I failed the test and had to be left behind!”
My husband had to restrain his laughter, I think. I was exhibiting the maturity level of a 12-year-old. If he hadn’t already known me for the previous seven years, he may have hit the road at that point. But instead, he reassured me that he would be by my side the rest of our honeymoon. And he was.
The rest of our honeymoon was perfect, and since then I’ve realized that sometimes our adventures will have to be separate. Such as skiing. I’ll ski, but don’t you dare put me on a Black Diamond slope ever. My husband prefers the expert trails, while I happily coast down the easy ones. We meet for lunch and compare our adventures. So what if mine are a little more tame? At least I’m out there trying.