I am at one with my phobias. I have a fear of heights and a fear of water. The fear of heights I’ve had ever since I can remember. It’s genetic. Mom has it, too. The fear of water developed not long after I saw the movies Jaws (1975) and Pirahna (1978). I was age 5 in 1975. I was so afraid of water that I was the world’s fastest pee-er. I ran out of the bathroom after flushing because I was afraid a great white would swim up out of the sewer and eat me, bottom first.
I eventually got over my fear of the toilet and of swimming pools. I learned how to swim. I got Red Cross and lifeguard certified. I’m a strong swimmer. I know how to rescue people from rip tides, but I’m still scared of the ocean for two reasons:
1) Jaws and piranha are lurking out there.
2) Waves. There’s just something about them that makes me want to stay on the beach. Perhaps it stems from the fact that a body surfer died on a beach when I was young. A wave caught him the wrong way and broke his neck. At least I’m pretty sure this actually did happen. It’s possible it’s the stuff of urban legend. At any rate, waves still scare me.
Which brings me to my point: You Can Really Scare Yourself to Death. While in St. Kitts Mark suggested we go sea kayaking. I thought, “With Jaws? With the waves?” Then I said, “Sure, sounds fun. We’ll go in a tandem, right?” He said we would.
So we’re in the ocean. He was in the back, doing the steering. I was in the front, and I was thinking, “Wow, I can’t believe I’m so calm and relaxed. This really is so much fun. I’m glad I got over my fear of the ocean.”
Then I noticed a great big wave headed straight toward us. I thought, “We’re dead. We’re going to die. We are going to die.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the wave. I was transfixed.
It was my husband’s voice that broke my trance.
“Keep paddling! Keep paddling! I can’t do anything if you stop paddling! Put your oar in the water and paddle! Paddle!”
I looked at my lap. How did my oar get there?
I stuck my oar in the water and did as I was told. The wave came and went. We survived, but only because my husband wasn’t scared. If I’d continued to sit there with my paddle in my lap, we would have capsized, and then Jaws would have eaten us.
It was then that I realized that it was the fear—and not the wave—that would have killed me.
