Turtle Envy: How facing the fear of diving added new adventures in life and new depths in love

By A. K. Snyder

Learn to scuba alongside Alycea, a claustrophobic bubble watcher determined to overcome her anxiety and explore the reefs.

After a failed scuba class triggered her panic, Alycea swore never to try diving again. But when her husband fell in love with the sport, she faced a decision: overcome the fear or accept her fate as a bubble watcher

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wandering River Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734388619

Book preview

Prologue

My husband Jer waits for me in the water.

I check my air, hold my mask and weights, and take a long stride into the ocean.

I signal that everything is okay, and together, we descend.

---

This is one of our favorite dive spots,

Pleasure Reef off the Florida Keys.

At depth, I check on Jer and he checks on me.

All calm, neutral buoyancy reached, we swim to the reef.

---

Back and forth and a bit forward,

the water moves me,

now motionless, arms and feet still,

camera rolling.

---

I join the school of yellow-tail snapper,

silvery-wisps gilded in bright yellow,

big eyes alert for danger.

Together, we sway with the current.

---

To my left, the school splits.

Yellowtails swipe left, right,

a parting of the silvery sea.

All the signs of a predator.

---

I point the camera and wait,

and here she comes.

Lovely wide eyes, broad flat nose.

Nurse shark.

---

The school scatters.

I move only with the water,

motionless me, arms and feet still,

camera rolling.

---

She approaches, swishes right to avoid me.

Her skin, gray, but dragon gray,

with embedded crystals of purple and diamond, the skin of a creature that belongs in a fantasy world.

---

Motionless me, camera rolling,

I do my best to capture footage of this fantasy world.

---

I have fallen in love with the undersea,

the ocean only divers experience.

Carnival-inspired reefs,

eels and crabs and sharks,

and best of all, an underwater city of sea turtles.

---

Two years ago, I would have sworn,

never,

not ever,

not if you paid me a million dollars,

would I be a scuba diver.

---

It’s good to be wrong.

1

Two Years Prior

Newlywed status brings newlywed pressure.

Even though Jer and I have been together for five years,

even though he says he doesn’t want anything for his birthday,

even though I’ve set the bar laughably low during previous gift-giving events, this is his first birthday as my husband, and I want to get him something he likes for once.

Something to beat last year’s lame cooking class that he pretended to appreciate. And the beer kit he eventually learned to brew. And the remote control helicopter, still brand new in the box. (Any buyers? I’ll cut you a deal.)

---

This year, I’m not guessing.

Jer, what do you think of scuba lessons for your birthday?

We’ve talked of it before. His love of fish.

A great way to make friends in our new city. Revel in our new Tampa lifestyle, far from the frozen tundra of Fargo we used to call home.

Sounds interesting, he says. You still don’t want to try it, though, right?

I know I should want to. I love a great adventure.

Fill a backpack and go exploring.

Paddle the boundary waters of wild Minnesota.

Paraglide in the Andes.

Whitewater raft in Bolivia.

Name an adventure and I’m in.

---

Except scuba diving.

The very mention of it makes me cringe,

gear covering my mouth and nose,

endless water overhead, trapping me below,

air embolisms and paralysis from surfacing too quickly,

tanks that could run out of air at any moment,

an endless list of things that could go wrong and no way to fix them and no way to call for help and no way to get air and I’d be trapped underwater, unable to breathe and unable to surface, trapped, trapped, trapped.

No.

---

I will never, not ever, be a scuba diver.

---

Maybe you could convince Bob to get lessons, I offer.

Don’t buy anything yet, he says. Let me talk to him.

2

Certified

In the weeks following his birthday, Jer and Bob certify as open-water divers. They have been friends since elementary school, and their friendship has new life now that they share a state.

They quickly drop a pile of cash on new gear, and Jer shows me his remaining gear wishlist. I am covered for years of birthdays.

Want to go to the Keys this weekend? Jer asks. His brown eyes glitter with excitement.

Yes. The answer is always yes.

Lie on the beach, write, eat Key Lime pie. My days are happily spent while they dive.

I appreciate dive weekends. A scenic five-hour drive to the Keys, a five-hour drive back, weekend after weekend. Uninterrupted hours as Jer and Bob dive. The peaceful getaway is always worth it.

---

In a few months, Jer and Bob certify as Advanced and Nitrox-ready.

After each adventure, the three of us hit the bar.

There was a massive grouper behind this rock, musta been bigger than me. And when I got up close, I saw it had a huge eel friend, six feet long at least.

At one point, nurse sharks surrounded me, just serenely gliding by.

Stingrays everywhere!

Jer pulls out the plastic-coated ID cards. We saw this spiny lobster and this monster crab.

I’m happy for him.

Thrilled for him.

His new hobby.

His new passion.

His new way to meet people and explore our new state.

---

And I am still never, not ever, going to be a scuba diver.

3

Self-Defenders

On a hot Sunday afternoon, Jer, Bob, and I settle into chairs by the water. Hog Heaven is a favorite restaurant post-dive. Good local beer and a quiet spot on the ocean where herons stalk the mangroves and the waves lap gently against the dock.

Jer is jubilant. We dove with sea turtles today.

He shows me photos, him floating next to a four-foot green sea turtle.

---

There’s something about sea turtles that is magical, impossible.

The sturdy survivors of meteors and millennia.

Solitary protectors of themselves, independent with thick shells.

But still calm. Quiet. Beautiful.

---

To dive with turtles, to be close to these ancient peaceful creatures—envy fills me.

---

Jer sees my envy and tries to soften it. You can snorkel sometimes, he offers. Come out on the boat with us. Be a bubble watcher.

4

Tease

Cold springs, coral reefs, shipwrecks.

Jer dives them all. Every free weekend, a new adventure.

I love adventures, but I am not having many of my own. Maybe I could experience just a taste if I snorkel.

While Jer and Bob dive one morning, I book myself on a snorkel tour.

A true Pisces, I’m at home in the water, a strong swimmer.

But that stupid plastic snorkel is horrible.

Every gurgle, every small amount of water infiltrating the snorkel, I pop my head up and spit saltwater and cough.

Face down in the water, I take in the stunning beauty of the reef below me. Breathe in, out.

The movement of the schools and currents, incredible.

Breathe in— pop up, spit, and cough.

Then face down in the water again.

---

A beautiful day, minus the coughing and spitting and freshly rinsed sinuses.

A gorgeous reef, hidden just below the surface, just out of view from the boat.

---

Back at the bar with Jer and Bob, my hair a salty matted mess, my swimsuit dampening my sunshirt, I borrow Jer’s ID guides and learn the names of the fish I saw.

Then all the fish I didn’t see.

And the lobsters, urchins, and octopuses.

Creatures that hide from surface floaters like me.

---

They talk about their dive. The lobsters, urchins, and octopuses.

All the creatures they got to see.

---

Tentacles of envy slither around me.

5

Galapagos

Bob is going to the Galapagos, Jer says. He is reclined in his chair, scrolling through his phone, cat curled on his feet.

I pause the TV, wait for more.

He wants to know if I want to come.

Tell me more about the trip, I say. Maybe we could both go, and I could stay on the islands. Iguanas and giant tortoises, fragile orchids and thick jungle forests.

It’s a live-aboard, he says.

Oh. I say nothing. I want him to come to the conclusion on his own. When I look at him, I can see he already has. And my stomach tenses.

This is not how things are supposed to be with us.

When amazing opportunities land at our feet, we are supposed to jump at them. We are supposed to help each other get them. Being together should bring us more, not less.

He is already backpedaling. This probably isn’t the year, he says. And the tickets aren’t cheap.

I’d love to go to the Galapagos with you someday, I offer.

For all the time we’ve spent dreaming about travel, sharing photos of the rainbow mountains in China, temples in India, hot springs in Iceland, it has always been a shared dream. We plan to travel the world together. The Galapagos has all the right elements: remote, unique, with a rich history culturally and ecologically.

Except, I don’t dive. And I don’t want to be left behind while he spends a week on a live-aboard, diving four times a day, never setting foot on land.

Jer looks at me. I guess you could sit on the boat. Read. Write.

I say nothing until I can trust my voice to be neutral. The Galapagos is a once-in-a-lifetime trip. And when we go, I want to explore the islands. I’m not going to sit on a boat and read.

Right. It’s not the right time for us financially anyway. Jer being a good sport somehow makes me feel even worse.

I don’t want to deprive you of something you really want to do, I say.

Married less than a year, and already I’m holding him back. Worse, this hesitant, fearful woman is not who I am.

Once, I loved the idea of diving.

Before that college class.

Before the word scuba recalled chlorinated sinuses and shallow-end panic attacks.

Once upon a time, scuba meant Jacques Cousteau.

Scuba meant exploration, treasure-hunting, shipwrecks and adventure.

---

What amazing experiences am I missing out on because I’m letting fear drive?

And now that Jer is stuck with me, what experiences will he miss out on too?

6

Declined

Our new Sunday night ritual following a weekend of diving involves Jer taking over the kitchen, rinsing the corrosive saltwater from his gear, every counter dripping.

I hover, out of the way, listening to his highlights.

I stayed home this