Dive On In

Water has always held influence over me. I am an Aquarius, and I embrace it-- nothing describes me better. And I have always loved the ocean and the intrigue that surrounds it. Give me miles of lonesome surf and I could live off of the quietude of the lapping waves for all of eternity. Dory was right when she said, Just Keep Swimming; life, love, and everything moves with the tides of the universe, and the ebb and flow of my life has shown me that, if you just keep swimming, you'll do fine. Knowing this, please know that what you're about to read is, in my opinion, one of the finest metaphors I have ever come up with.

I have arrived at the pool, toting bathing suit, sunscreen, and a towel. Maybe a good book, and an even better mojito-- if we were to get really fancy.

In other words: I have arrived on this earth, I've got all these qualities, elements of my personality, aspects of my life that I both can and cannot control.

I take my time to settle down. Roll out my towel, rub in my sunscreen, sip on my mojito. I'm finally in my groove.

In other words: I grow up, I become who I am today. I traverse the world until I know something about it, and something about who I am.

I look up; there it is. The high dive. I see other swimmers diving off it, laughing and splashing and being thrilled by it's excitement. Not the only reason I've come to the pool, but the idea has squirmed it's way into my head: "I want to dive off that".

In other words: Love. There it is. It has towered above me for long enough. I have seen enough of my friends fall in love to crave it. I've seen enough romantic comedies to be envious of those Hollywood starlets.

I stand up. I march up to the ladder that leads to the diving board. I step up and climb. Each rung I ascend, the lighter my head seems to feel. With each inch closer to the top, my feet slow, pausing at each step to breath.

Do I go on? Maybe I'm not ready. I haven't even gotten to the top and I'm doubting myself. What if I get up there and can't jump? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I belly-flop right in front of everyone? What if I jump and hurt someone in the process? Or hurt myself?

My mind is whirring with worry but my feet still push on and up. My mind whispers it's concerns in the ear of my pounding heart but the pounding drowns out the doubts. But with every rung the whispers get louder until my mind is screaming "STOP!".

At this point I've reached the top of the ladder. My arms lift my body up and onto the diving board. I can feel my legs unsteady, as I teeter slightly. I take my first step towards the edge. The rush of adrenaline pumping through my body finally hits my head and I feel woozy. My feet slide to the edge of the board and I look down.

They always say never look down. You never wanna see how far you have to fall. But I already did. I couldn't help it. I needed to know. It was a reflex. And now I realize the gravity of my precarious situation. This could really hurt. If I don't do it right, this could really, really hurt.

And then, through all the adrenaline, foggy-headed-ness, and self-doubt, hope comes crashing to the surface of my consciousness. But what if I do it right? What if I slide effortlessly into the water, gracefully, beautifully. I mean, people wouldn't be waiting in line to jump off the high dive if it wasn't fun. They wouldn't love it if the initial hesitation didn't pay off. If they can dive, certainly I can. The first time is always the hardest, then it will get easier. Diving in will be only natural.

My toes curl around the edge of the board, I take a shaky breath in and out, and I hear someone yell, "Dive On In".