The Fear I Conquered
There’s a moment in every relationship, job interview, or open-mic night at a café where you feel it—a rush of adrenaline, a twinge of nausea, the sudden realization that, yep, this is happening. For me, that moment involved a kayak, the open ocean, and an irrational terror I’d been dragging along my mental shoreline for years. The fear? Deep water. Specifically, water so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. Bonus points if it came with a side of “What even lives down there?”
By the end of this story, though, I’d not only conquered that fear, I came away with a new appreciation for trust—not just in others, but in myself. Oh, and I learned some surprising lessons about dating, too. Let me take you out to sea (metaphorically) to explain.
Beneath the Surface (of My Anxiety)
Here’s the thing about growing up in Santa Barbara: the ocean is practically a family member. It’s the stunning backdrop of picnics, lifeguard towers, and Dave Matthews Band soundtracks at beach bonfires. Yet, despite this coastal upbringing, I developed a healthy respect-slash-paranoia for water that you can’t see through. Blame “Jaws,” blame my overactive imagination picturing prehistoric fish lurking below—even snorkeling too close to kelp made me break into a cold sweat.
On land, I’m as steady as a California oak tree: confident, easygoing, dependable. Put me in a kayak half a mile past the break line, though, and that charming, Santa Barbara-raised guy turns into a trembling pile of what-can-I-grip-to-make-this-stop.
Which brings us to the fateful day I was invited on a kayaking trip—a group outing along a stunning stretch of coastline not far from Malibu. Everyone else saw adventure; I saw smirking sea lions plotting my imminent capsizing. But the invitation came from someone I was trying to impress, and saying “no” meant missing out on quality time. So I said "yes," even though my internal monologue screamed something closer to “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
The First Step: Actually Showing Up
Fear, I’ve learned, is like that bossy friend who insists on setting the playlist for everyone: the louder you let it get, the harder it becomes to hear yourself think. To lower its volume, you have to do what feels impossible—actually show up. So I did.
Dressed in a life vest approximately the size of a Studio Ghibli puffball, I waded into the shallows thinking, “This isn’t so bad. Look! The water’s practically bath temperature; you could almost lie down.” But as soon as we passed the point where the sandy bottom went murky, my chest tightened. Cue the irrational fantasies: giant squid auditioning me for their next horror flick, seaweed physically dragging my kayak into some eerie underwater pit no one’s ever heard of. Not great vibes.
At this moment, our guide threw out a fascinating little fact: most marine life near Malibu isn’t interested in you. To them, we’re a clunky, paddle-wielding human parade—not edible or interesting enough to investigate. That hit me like a splash of cold water (pun intended). Sometimes in life—on ocean kayaks and on first dates—we assume we’re far more on display than we actually are. It’s oddly comforting.
Learning to Paddle Through
Once I got into the motion—paddle left, paddle right, repeat—I stopped gripping my irrational fears so tightly. The trick wasn’t banishing them altogether, but learning to move anyway. Something about the rhythm of paddling felt meditative, grounding even. It made me think of what my relationships had also taught me: the point was never to be completely fearless. It was to live alongside it—to make room for fear without letting it steer.
A key turning point happened about an hour in when we passed an actual pod of dolphins. Yes, dolphins! In my mind, the “deep ocean” was reserved for terrifying creatures, but here was this pod gliding smoothly through it like synchronized swimmers. Watching them felt intimate, peaceful, and weirdly reassuring. Sure, I was still on edge, but the total awe of the moment overpowered the panic.
This part of the experience reminded me of dating, too. (Bear with me.) Often we roll into relationships clutching fears from past experiences: “What if I mess this up?” or “What if they find something about me they don’t like?” But when we’re truly present, we let awe—of this person, this shared moment—carry us forward. There’s magic in letting the waves take over without needing to fight them.
Anchoring the Lessons: Conquering Fear in Love and Life
So, what did my kayaking adventure teach me beyond the fact that marine life doesn’t care about my existence? A lot, actually. Here’s the TL;DR version for anyone currently facing their own metaphorical ocean:
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Start Small, But Start Boldly
Yes, fear sucks. But staying landlocked is worse. Whatever it is—whether it’s starting a new relationship or tackling the idea of presenting at a work meeting—the difference between sinking and swimming is often just showing up. Let yourself wobble and paddle while you get used to the terrain. -
Focus on the Rhythm
The more I focused on simply moving my paddle, the less overwhelming the waves felt. Those tiny, consistent actions shifted the whole vibe. Similarly, in love (and life), figuring out workable habits—regular check-ins, clear communication, honesty—keeps you afloat through the trickier waters. -
Fear Doesn’t Equal Danger
There’s a huge difference between perceiving danger and actually being in danger. Sometimes, our emotional jagged edges overreact and tell us “This is scary, so something bad WILL happen.” Reality? Not so much. That kayak didn’t flip, the sea lions didn’t charge, and my date at the end of the trip thought I looked cute, salt-streaked hair and all. -
Be Present Enough to Notice the Dolphins
Life doesn’t serve you pods of dolphins every day. Some moments are rare, fleeting, and beautiful. Fear—and overthinking—can convince us to miss them. When you spot those breathtaking moments, lean all the way in. They make the whole journey worth it.
Finishing Out the Journey
By the time we paddled back to shore, my muscles were sore, but my heart felt full. Had I completely mastered my fear of water? Not exactly. But I no longer let it dictate my limits. Plus, I came away with a solid date story (“You won’t believe how many times I low-key imagined jumping ship”), a boost in self-confidence, and a renewed appreciation for letting yourself get a little uncomfortable to grow.
The ocean, much like love, remains a vast and unpredictable thing. You’re never really in control—you just learn to move with the current. And sometimes, to your absolute shock, you find joy waiting on the other side.
So here’s my challenge to you: find your “deep water.” Then take the paddle anyway. You never know; there might just be a pod of dolphins waiting.
