In Florida, many people are certified to scuba dive, but back home for me in Connecticut, certified divers are few and far between. Both of my parents have been certified for many years, so when we went on a family vacation to Aruba, I was excited to try.
In 2012, we went on a family trip to the beautiful island off the coast of Venezuela. While planning our trip, my parents signed me up for a Discover Scuba program. The program consisted of an hour-long lecture and twenty minutes of practice in the pool. The workers at the center had to find someone who could speak English since my classmates didn’t know any. I was so confident in the pool that I thought I would have no trouble out in the Caribbean.
The day prior had been stormy, so the water wasn’t as calm as it was for most of the trip, but I geared up and jumped into the water anyways. I started feeling a little anxious but wrote it off as just normal nervous feelings. Then trouble hit. I couldn’t descend into the water. I would get about five feet below the surface before I popped right back up again. I tried for a solid 10 minutes before giving up and going to sit on the boat. I sat on the boat with my mom and the older Venezuelan woman who got sick while my dad and her husband went diving. I felt so defeated; I disappointed myself, and I felt like I had disappointed my parents as well. They reassured me, but I was determined. I told my dad that night that when we got home, I wanted to register for some actual classes.
Later that year, my dad and I parked in the small parking lot of the Scuba Shack in Rocky Hill, Connecticut. We walked into the back where the classroom was and I soon saw that I was the youngest person there by at least 20 years. This made me even more determined to succeed. During the summer, I would have four-hour pool classes once a week, from 6-10 p.m. This was pretty late for 11-year-old me, but six weeks later, I had finally finished the pool sessions and the time had come for the checkout dives.
The first dive was at Fort Wetherill in Jamestown, Rhode Island. It was very dark, cold and I couldn’t see a lot but I kept my cool and emerged perfectly fine. I was ready for the next day. The second dive was only a few minutes away from my house, in the Brownstone Quarries in Portland, Connecticut. This dive was a little harder because it was fresh water, compared to the previous day’s saltwater conditions. By the end of that day, however, I had my picture taken and handed my Junior Open Water Diver’s certification card.
This experience changed me for the rest of my life. If I hadn’t decided to get certified after failing in Aruba, I would have never realized that I love the ocean. If I hadn’t gone out on that limb, I wouldn’t have as much confidence as I do now. Because of my decision, I realized that I am at peace when I am under water, and I am forever grateful for the time that I learned how to scuba dive.
