Scuba Terrified

Andrew described it as exciting yet completely calming at the same time.  

I was stoked.  A little apprehensive but mostly stoked as I geared up for my first scuba class.

The first hour was bookwork.  Along with a lengthy discussion from which I retained only one phrase.

"Don't ascend too fast or you'll get the bends."

Or in other words…. If you go up too fast then BOOM your lungs will explode into smithereens. 

It was all I could think about as we walked out to the pool.

I killed it when it came to putting my gear together.  An oxygen-tank-regulator-hook-uper-BCD-inflator-professional if I do say so myself.  But when it came to getting in water I was pretty much a big FAT disaster.

My first breaths underwater were anything BUT calming.  They were odd and out of place.  For the first few minutes I continually kept thinking, "When the HECK do we surface for air?" And as the minutes ticked on, I became more and more anxious as I became more and more aware of the fact that my body really shouldn't be able to do something that only fish and mermaids can do.  This stress was only amplified by my constant concern for my ridiculously stubborn right ear that wouldn't seem to ever fully pop.  And those bends….  I just couldn't get the awful image out of my head of my lungs contorting and rupturing in my chest.  A completely irrational stress seeing as we were diving in a twelve foot pool.  

The final straw was when we did an exercise where we unhooked our air source to simulate what it would feel like if we lost air.  No thank you.  That exercise left me short of breath, pale, and with tingling numb hands that I couldn't control.  AKA: hyperventilation.  Yes, you heard me right I hyperventilated.

E M B A R R A S S I N G 

I went home dizzy, light headed, drained, and completely defeated.  Who hyperventilates swimming in a pool?  Seriously??  As I waited for Andrew to come over so I could tell him all about my EPIC failure I tried to convince myself that clearly my body just wasn't made for this sport.  To frail, to weak…. and then I got mad.  Real mad.  Partially because I had just paid good money to go and hyperventilate and partially because I realized I was already trying really hard to convince myself that it was okay to give up. 

When I started college I somewhat redesigned myself.  Or perhaps I just figured out who I really was all along.  I just quit trying to please so many people.  But I also decided to make a new life goal. TRY NEW THINGS.  To try lots of new things continually.  To get outside of my comfort zone.  To never regret not trying something. 

To rock climb, water ski, and sky dive.  And if I can jump out of a plane then I for sure as heck can sit underwater for twenty minutes.  So I decided as I laid on the couch pale as a ghost I would conquer this dumb fear I had developed.  

I will not lie I totally dreaded our next class.  And I had to tell myself to breathe normal the whole entire hour of bookwork.  But when it came time to get into the pool I killed it.  My body got used to it.  I took plenty of super deep breaths.  And I pretended to be a mermaid.  But seriously I did.  

Two more classes.

Two open water dives in a dark rather crowded crater.

A bloody nose.

A reverse ear block that left me partially deaf for a couple days.

And BOOM I am proud to say I am a certified lady.

c e r t i f i e d  

 no longer  

t e r r i f i e d

Over my ridiculous fear of scuba diving

and ready for our next adventure that hopefully involves swimming with real fishies.  

Resolutions

When I was a little girl my best friend, Calee, used to tell me I was perfect. 

p e r f e c t 

I began to hate the word perfect.  She meant it as a compliment.  Occasionally a method of teasing.  But generally a compliment.  However, for some reason I hated it.  Hated it.  Hated it.  Hated it.  Hated it so much that in fact one day I had a small freakout and told her all about how much I absolutely hated it when she called me perfect.  (poor poor Calee... I don't know how she has put up with me the past sixteen years)

For awhile I couldn't decide why I hated being called perfect.  I mean a compliment is a positive thing.  And ultimately being perfect was the highest compliment out there.

For years I figured it was because I must hate to be complimented.  Honestly complimenting can be a very awkward thing.  It generally results in me disagreeing as the complimenter has to insist for several minutes that I am in fact wearing a darling outfit.  I am not quite sure why I feel the incessant need to disagree with almost every compliment I receive.  It could be because I feel awkward when I become the center of attention orrrr… perhaps I am a tad more ego centrical than I think I am and I actually do love hearing the compliment over and over again.  Eek.  No matter what the motive is, it is ridiculous, time-consuming, and tiring so therefore this year RESOLUTION #1 is to become more gracious and simply say "thank you" when confronted with a compliment.

RESOLUTION #2 comes from my hatred for perfection.  My hatred for the word has been plaguing me since I was child but oddly enough it wasn't until last year that I finally realized why I truly hate the term "perfect."

2013 came with the brilliant resolution to write in my journal every single night.  Every single night.  I did amazingly well for the first few months.  Instead of writing in a regular paper journal I started a private blog.  This way there were no scratched out, smeared pen marks that would drive me absolutely insane.  Reducing my paper and white-out use significantly.  I could easily include pictures and I became very proud of my perfectly documented year.  Then summer hit and I actually began to regain my social life leaving me less time to write and that's about when things started going south.

I missed a day.  And when I sat down two days later to write I couldn't stand the fact that I had missed a day.  Couldn't stand it.  It made my skin crawl because it seemed I had in a way failed.  So I came up with a clever idea to solve my failure.  I began backdating my entries.  That way it appeared that I had never missed a day.  Genius.

  It worked until about the fifth time I had to do two entries in one day.  It was becoming such a chore to sit down every other day and come up with two, or three, or in some cases four journal entries.  And the more I began to dread it, the more days I missed because I didn't want to deal with the daunting task of making-up what had become a whole week of journal entries.  And about two months into summer I finally gave up.

A couple months later I opened back up my failed journal-blog-resolution-gone-wrong and realized that  the issue wasn't missing a day, the issue was... myself.

I am a perfectionist.  Not to be confused with being perfect.  Rather I am OCD and a tad controlling (if you couldn't tell from my above rant about pen smears and scratch outs)  Because who honestly cares if you make a mistake and have to scribble it out?  I can tell you who does… sadly this girl right here.

Now sometimes being a perfectionist is great.  For example, I get really good grades because I can't handle getting a poor score.  But when it comes to other things like journal entries or scripture reading I fail miserably.  Because when I miss a day… my perfect goal is crushed.  And when my perfect goal is crushed I get ridiculously bugged by it and can't stand to even think about my failure causing me to completely abandon the goal and pretend it never happened… Real healthy.  Not

 So this year my RESOLUTION #2 is to not be perfect.

To be okay with not having things go exactly my way.  To be a little less controlling.  To lessen my expectations just a tad.  To appreciate the mistakes.  And to love my failures for what they have taught me.

  So here's to the most imperfectly perfect year yet.  A year of less stress, more pen scratch outs, and weeks where I go without posting on this blog.  (Yes I am justifying my lack of writing with my resolution)

And here's one last shout out to that one chick up top that has always been my number one fan.  Calee Kay.  Thanks for putting up with my perfectionism.  Love you to the stars and back.

Blackout

Last Thursday was the famous blackout game.  A university-of-utah-football-fan-favorite where the whole stadium wears black.  This is one game I try to never miss.  However, this year I decided it was best we miss it due to illness and the continually decreasing weather temperatures throughout the day.  With Andrew barely getting over his ridiculously awful cold, I suggested we go up to his grandma's timeshare in Park City.  I figured we could finish fighting off his cold in the hot tub, steam room, and sauna while watching the game from the comfort of a four-star hotel room.  To Carter's dismay Jane was also sick.  I however found this a lovely stroke of luck because that meant that one of our favorite couples could join us.  

The Marriott is one of my very favorite hotels in Park City.  Mainly because of the hot tubs.  There are at least five different hot tubs that each waterfall into one another.  So we spent all night being mischievous and not minding the "PLEASE DON'T CLIMB ON THE ROCKS" signs and "cliff jumping" from hot tub to hot tub.

We watched the game and we were all quite disappointed we lost.  But at least our team looked fabulous in all black.  I couldn't seem to get over our matte black helmets.  Classy if you ask me.  

After the game we decided we needed to head home.  When we left the hotel I was completely shocked to find that it was snowing.  Snowing during the first week of October.  Upset was an understatement seeing as fall is my very favorite season.  Andrew was ecstatic because he lives for skiing.  And the earlier it snows the happier he is.

The snow was all great and dandy until we started actually driving home.  It was one of those snowstorms where the headlights and the falling snow combine to make the view out of the windshield look psychedelic.  Or as Jane described it... like the stars in Star Wars when they are traveling through space at light speed.  It was kind of sickening if you concentrated too hard on it and ultimately blinding.  It was nearly impossible to see anything, including the lines on the road.

The longer we drove the more psychedelic the snow became.  And soon we couldn't decide if we preferred the whiteout that occurred with the headlights on or the less dizzying blackout that occurred with the headlights off.  The darkness was our best bet until we got really deep into Parley's.    Then lights became necessary as canyon walls and drop off's became a concern.  It not only got darker the deeper we got but it got colder... meaning more snow and higher winds.  

As the snow became even more wild I became more worried until I saw it...  a construction cone.  One of the those big, fat, orange, barrel cones.  I was filled with immediate relief.  Because those cones became a bright and easily seen guide down the rest of the canyon.  One every few feet made navigating the canyon a million times easier and I silently thanked Heavenly Father for those hideous construction cones.

As my mind became less consumed with worry it wandered to my gratitude for those construction cones.  I realized that it was the first time in my life I had ever been grateful for road construction.  Most of the time hitting construction results in me cursing under my breath.  I HATE CONSTRUCTION.  Slows my whole life down.  And it seems like there is continuously construction somewhere on a road I need to be taking.  But for once I was really grateful for the construction.  And I began to relate that to my own life...

How often am I grateful for the construction and reconstruction in my life?  For those moments when I feel like I am being torn apart and being built all over again.  Not very often.  Generally not until the newly-built-stronger-me has to deal with my next life blackout... or in other words the next life trial that leaves me feeling totally alone or helpless.  Most of the time I can't appreciate the construction until much later.  And most of time I waste time and energy complaining and whining about it instead of just putting on a smile and realizing it is for my own good...  And that is when I made my newest resolution...  to no longer curse the construction and those lovely construction workers.  Both the literal construction and the figurative construction in my life. Because the construction only makes the blackouts that much easier.  

-beth