Rapa Nui

As a little girl, I remember hearing about Easter Island. We had lessons about the island in school. I read about it in books. I saw it in documentaries. I was taught about the Moais and about how remote the island was, and I always thought of it as some far off place that few people could access. I never imagined that many years later I would be one of those few people.

An opportunity to travel with my laboratory for a two and a half week research trip to Easter Island (or Rapa Nui as it called by its native people) allowed me to get on a plane and travel 5 hours from the mainland of Chile to one of the most isolated places in the world. I was standing on a green speck in a sea of blue for thousands of kilometers, and I never truly understood just how isolated we were. It never felt real to me and it never will.

The first day we arrived, we headed to the dive shop to make arrangements and unload some of the equipment. I immediately noticed that the dock was directly accessible from the shop and eventually I decided to drop everything and go see the very thing I had been hoping to see for so long. Over the past few months I had been painting organisms from Rapa Nui for a book that my laboratory is producing, and after having looked at those organisms through a computer screen for months and pouring everything into those paintings, I had to see if I could catch a glimpse just from the pier. Fighting my instinct to work all the time, I stole away from the group with my favorite burnt orange skirt rustling in the wind and found my way to the water’s edge. What I saw brought me to tears.

A group of porcupine fish, a species I had only see in books, swam haphazardly in between the boats. There they were in their natural habitat, in a place I had only dreamed about seeing for so long. I dreamed of tropical waters as a child, but they seemed unreachable. Now, here they were. And then, suddenly, a beautiful green sea turtle appeared from underneath a boat. In all her splendor, she arose from her hiding space to breathe. She was beautiful, with dark eyes and with patterns on her shell that looked as if they were painted. In that moment, nothing felt real. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As I was admiring the turtle, a school of one of the most common species on the island (“tipi tipi ‘uri” or “Easter Island Butterfly fish”) swam past. Something I had painted and spent so much time studying was real. They were there, moving and breathing.

That was only the beginning.

Two days later, I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the clearest waters I will ever see and I saw my first coral reef. I had heard about coral reefs all my life, and here they were right in front of me. I maintained my buoyancy and floated above them, admiring their delicate beauty from a distance. The current pulsated like breathing and I felt it. I was a part of this world, I was studying it and pulling it into myself as I tried to understand it. I came up from that dive in a bit of shock and it took me a long time to process what I had seen, and it left me starving for more opportunities to experience this foreign place.

I cannot detail everything I experienced in Rapa Nui. However, I will try to relay some of the most meaningful and beautiful things that I experienced during my time on the island.

The Tide Pools

There were roughly two places on the island that I knew I had to see while I was there, one of which being the tide pools. There were tide pools just outside of Hanga Roa that had corals, and after seeing photographs of them on our laboratory’s hard drives I knew I had to see them. I almost didn’t.

There was a possibility that we would go one day, but plans started fading and it appeared as though I would have to unfortunately miss out on seeing them. I tried not to think about it and continued with my work until it was decided that we would go after all. I sat in the truck in anticipation as I watched the wild coastline unfold in front of me. The town of Hanga Roa disappeared and turned into tall golden-green hills. Towering cliff sides hovered over the coastline as if to guard it from outside forces. We pulled in to our destination, climbed down from our lofty truck, and descended into the coastline. The craggy black lava rocks jutted out from the ground in contorted patterns that only became more bizarre as we traversed over the strange world. And then, there they were.

Glimmering in the sun, the pools featured a dazzling array of corals of various colors that beamed radiantly through the turquoise waters. I have never seen colors blend together so beautifully. The breeze rippled over the surface and made the colors blend even further as if it the pools were a prism. It simply took my breath away. The species of corals in this pool (Porites lobata) may only grow up to 1 cm per year, so I can imagine that these beautiful structures were quite old. So much strength and patience over so many years.

One of the pools was particularly large and held a spectacular assortment of gorgeous corals with a smaller pool adjacent to it that held several species of fishes. I photographed the porcupine fish that I had seen the first day I arrived and the photo looked as if I had taken it from under the water. I watched in awe as the fish swam so close to us and as the corals’ vibrant colors radiated from the bottom of the pool. I tried and failed to truly capture the beauty of this place. It was unfathomable just how beautiful it was, and it was truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in my life.

Diving

I have never seen waters like I did in Rapa Nui. I’m not sure I ever will again. The water is like glass and completely transparent due to the lack of nutrients present in the water column. You can see the seafloor below you from the boat. I saw some of the bluest blues I have ever seen. As the sun illuminated the water, an immediate change in color rushed over surface of the sea around the boat and a vibrant blue enveloped us. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

I glided over fields of corals. I traversed over rippling sandy sea floors that merged black and white sand together in beautiful swirling patterns. I saw fish I had only ever imagined seeing, and I saw the animals I had painted come to life right in front of me. There were few moments that were truly as profound for me as seeing those creatures I had worked so hard to paint accurately move and breathe in front of me. They truly existed and did not only live in publications or in books.

In one moment I was running transects and I turned behind me to see a scene that looked straight out of the documentaries that had breathed life into me as a child. A congregation of rocks coated in algae and a few corals surrounded by various species of fish were illuminated by shimmering light from the sun, exactly in the way that you see it in photographs or documentaries. I paused in awe. I felt like I no longer existed, I was simply within a space that was glorious for the sake of being glorious.

In the same dive, I was swimming from one location to another and spotted a cornetfish moving in my direction. We were going opposite ways but crossing paths, and something about this fish drew me in. As we came closer to one another I slowed my breathing so as not to scare the fish with my bubbles and I admired his slender silver body. We had a moment where we both were looking directly into the other’s eyes and I cannot tell you how profound that moment was. I am careful not to anthropomorphize animals as a biologist because it can be a dangerous method of thinking in terms of adding bias to our perception of their behavior. However, these animals know that you are there. They acknowledge your presence. They see you and size you up. We looked at one another, studied one another, and then we went our separate ways. I live for those intimate connections with animals and those moments that remind me that I am studying creatures that are vividly alive.

There was one dive that was particularly important for me. When I first began diving, there was one thing that had always scared me: dropoffs. Anywhere that dropped off to the bottom of the ocean floor or where the bottom was hundreds or thousands of feet down freaked me out. That idea of all that space between me and the bottom and that “void” as my Oceanography professor called it truly made me nervous. However, like many other instances in my diving career, I knew that I had to do it. Once I do something at least once, it no longer scares me. That happened with me the first time I went to 60 ft/18 meters, and the first time I rode the bus alone in Chile. It was something I had to overcome. The year before, I had also come across a photograph of Motu Kao Kao, a rock face that juts out of the ocean. I saw that and remembered thinking, “I have to see that one day.” I was secretly hoping that the opportunity would arise for me to go. It did not appear likely, especially since the group could tell that I was a bit nervous about it. I had actually thought the situation through enough to make myself not nervous, but their nervousness made me nervous again and I felt a lot of negative pressure. But, I had an absolutely wonderful dive buddy, and together she and I descended into a world I never thought I would see. Among the bluest of waters, corals lined the walls of the rocks and life abounded. Fish species I had not seen previously appeared out of seemingly nowhere. I saw my first school of fish in the distance. The massive congregation hung weightless together in complete tranquility. Everything was so close and yet so far away but it felt like none of it was truly real. I ran through my air faster than I would have liked due to me fussing with my buoyancy and the subconscious nervousness, but I arose from that dive with the biggest smile on my face.

Sadly, I took very few photographs during my dives. When I was able to dive, I was working, and my camera housing was in use for other scientific work. However, I did receive the opportunity to photograph at another time.

Snorkeling

The pier offered the opportunity to snorkel the shallow waters of the coast and observe an abundance of species without having to swim out a great distance. “La Caleta” as it was called hosted a variety of green sea turtles that sought shelter in the calm waters near the boats. I had been eyeing the sight for days as a snorkeling destination but never had the time to go since there was work to be done. One day, however, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I only had so much longer in this gorgeous place and had few underwater photographs to show for it. I devised a plan and set out on my own little snorkeling adventure. Normally, I never snorkel alone as it is a dangerous practice because something could happen and you should always have a buddy there in case you need help. However, the cove is directly next to all of the coastal shops and everyone can see you. Plus, there were often other swimmers. I eased myself into the warm water and swam out to meet the wildlife.

What I saw astounded me. There were so many fish, more than I had ever seen in one place at a time in my entire life. Everywhere I turned there was life. The various species of fish were foraging around the algae-covered rocks. A gorgeous turtle swam past me, and I floated beside him. I was shocked to find that he was not disturbed by my presence and he swam gently around me, allowing me to watch him and hover above and below him as I admired his quiet dignity. There was an unspoken sense of trust between us. A moment like that will change you. A moment like that will give you life. The life that had been slowly draining away from me over the past few months was refueled in those moments under the water by myself. It was me and the world I loved. I finally felt like I was a part of something that had driven my every decision for the past 12 years of my life.

On the last full day before I left, I did all of my assigned tasks, assisted the team with their equipment, and then I again tore off to the sea. I stayed in the water for as long as I could stand it, until I was too cold to go on. As I reluctantly finished my dive, I sat on the steps in my wetsuit, breathing and watching the small waves push and pull themselves along the small rocks. I knew this was the end. I knew I may never see this again. I knew I was terminating my last opportunity. But I was so happy, and I don’t think I have ever been that happy. I sat there in that moment, reveling in it as the water dripped down my hair, off my wetsuit, and onto the warm concrete.

Ana Kai Tangata

Few places have moved me as deeply as Ana Kai Tangata. Situated just outside of Hanga Roa, Ana Kai Tangata hangs over a turquoise blue waters with boulders scattered throughout the water that look like mosaic patterns. The cliff faces are extravagant, with one that has gorgeous deep black lava rock and another one that has cream-colored rock mixed with deep browns and whites. In the distance, the towering cliffside of Mataveri overlooks the open ocean. There are also several caves, one of which that has a petroglyph that is hundreds of years old. I have never seen a place as beautiful as as this one. I was in awe at the crystal waters and incredible rock structures. I still think about this place a lot, and I will for a long time. My photographs are not nearly the same as being there, but I hope that they relay just some of what I saw while I was there.

Rapa Nui is unlike anywhere else I have ever seen. It is wild, vibrant place and is more than just the Moais. I wish I could kneel down next to little me and whisper in her ear, “One day, you’ll see those places they taught you in school. That island will make you a better person.” I am still in disbelief that I went. There is still so much to relay. But for now, I will leave you with a few more photographs.

The People of the Sea: A Double Exposure Photography Project

I have always been enamored by double exposure photographs. I have always been equally enamored by film photography. After years of yearning to accomplish both, I finally had the opportunity to do both.

Before returning to Chile this year, I bought myself a graduation present in the form of a beautiful Canon A-1 and vowed to teach myself how to use it. I’m only three rolls in and already obsessed. Film has a look unlike any other medium: the colors and focus are so dreamy and beautiful. There is something truly special about using something from so many years ago to create new art, and there is truly nothing like seeing your photographs for the first time after they are developed.

I recently received a generous grant from Two Photon art to perform a project I had been toying around with for a long time. I wanted to combine my love of film and double exposures with my love of marine biology and the people who work at the marine station where I am currently located. The project seeks to personify the people who work with the sea while visually connecting them with it. As marine biologists, we are so intimately connected to the ocean that we study and it becomes a part of us. However, the people who perform important work in marine biology are often overlooked or neglected, and I wanted to showcase these dedicated individuals.

Below are portraits of the individuals who work with the sea here in Chile. They appear in the same order in which they were taken.

Adventures in SCUBA Part 2

One year ago I was fighting through exhaustion in the dead of night, willing myself to stay awake to study and get through another miserable day as I waited to go back home to Chile and finally work with something I adored. On those nights where my eyelids were heavy in the dim light of my desk lamp, diving in the ocean was something so far removed from me that I was beginning to wonder if the day would ever come. One year later, I am looking out over the sparkling waters I’d dreamed of for so long and I’ve been on several dives. It took a long time to get here, but I made it.

Diving feels like second nature to me. Diving is home. I want to dive all the time, I crave being beneath the blue waters and breathing deeper than I can on land. Everything about diving fascinates me, and being in the world I love more than anything deeply invigorates me. I cannot adequately explain in words how absolutely in love I am with diving and how much life it gives me.

But in spite of all that life I had found in diving, all of that joy and inner strength suddenly started to become overshadowed by something so much darker. A crack opened in myself and all of that bliss I had found through diving started to rush out from under me. I started to allow self-doubt and pressure from external factors suck all of the happiness out of diving, and after every dive I felt a profound heaviness I had never experienced during past dives. Slowly but surely, it began to affect my dive performance.

During one dive, I was helping mark kelp patches. I was trying out a different method for carrying the materials, but the bag attached to my BCD was a little tighter than I remembered and trying to maneuver the materials out of it became more and more difficult as I fought to pull them out. The seconds started to feel like minutes and my anxiety skyrocketed as my dive buddy waited for me while I struggled to hand him the materials. For the first time in all of my diving career, I felt myself nervously breathing from anxiety, and I was having difficulty slowing it down. That dive, I ran out of air far faster than I had in a long time. I was horrified, I was known for having good air consumption and I was proud of it. This dive, I had anxiously breathed through everything faster than I could control it, and I knew that it was completely my fault. I came up from that dive feeling defeated and angry with myself.

While developing my diving skills in the States, I told myself that I had to work diligently to become self-sufficient. I had to look experienced or no one would want to take me diving or give me the experience I needed for my career. I made sure I could prepare my equipment with no help and that I could do all of the diving techniques as professionally as possible so that I would be of help to others rather than a hindrance. It took several dives, but eventually I began to feel a confidence in myself that I had never felt before. It felt wonderful to feel like that, and I was so happy to finally find something that made me feel that way. But, now that I was finally completing the dives that I had trained to do, all of that pressure began to weigh on me. Kind suggestions from people who were simply trying to help me suddenly felt like a laundry list of all the things I had done wrong and I was terrified that I looked too inexperienced to be considered of use to anyone.

I put a lot of pressure on myself. I fight perfection on a daily basis. I let things simmer and worry about if I said the right thing or if I hurt someone’s feelings or came across the wrong way. Sometimes it makes me so sick I can barely sleep or eat. I resented that I had allowed negative energy and nervous tension to choke the thing I loved, but it was becoming difficult to push the feeling off.

The tipping point came somewhat recently. We went on a training dive for multiple people, and I would have to perform some training exercises as well. Most of the training exercises were basic and I had done them before as part of my initial training, and while I was a little irked that I had to do them again considering I had the certification I went along with the plan. I was concerned that I had to do them in the first place because of my inexperience, but I figured that if I showed that I could competently complete the tasks, perhaps I would stop being treated like a beginner or stop feeling as though was too inexperienced. Perhaps this was finally my chance to prove myself. I waited patiently while the other divers practiced their training and I watched as a curious clan of shrimp made their way towards me. Eventually my turn came and we dove to a spot at about 11 meters/35 feet so that I could complete the exercises in a deep enough location. I had to complete the mask removal and clearing, replacing my SCUBA kit, buddy breathing, and neutral buoyancy. Clearing my mask was no issue, I had plenty of training with the task and I was able to remove and replace it quickly. Replacing the SCUBA kit was another story. This technique is useful to have in case of an emergency; on rare occasions you could get entangled in something such as kelp or fishing line and it may be necessary to take the BCD vest and tank completely off your body and then replace it after untangling yourself. This is an unnerving skill for most people because once you take that weight off, the neoprene starts to take over and your body tries to float towards the surface, which is dangerous. There was only one technique I had issues with during my training, and this one was it. I knew in advance that I would have difficulty with the technique but I was willing to give it another try because it was important. In the cool blue water several meters/feet from the surface, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and I began to undo my vest. As soon as I took it off, I felt my body begin to float. I stopped everything I was doing and held the tank close to me to help keep me down. For about two seconds, I considered aborting the exercise, but I knew that if I did it I would never hear the end of it. Not to mention, I knew deep down I could complete it. The only thing preventing me from completing the exercise was fear, and I had to overcome it. I motioned my buddy to get closer to me, and he placed his weight on one of my fins to help keep me down and his hand on my arm to let me know he was there. I took a deep breath, swung my kit onto my knee, and then immediately replaced it. In that moment, I was proud of myself. It had gone far better than my first try, and I had done it calmly. However, the next exercise did not go over well. I was told that we would be sharing air, so my initial thought was the regular “give your octopus to your buddy and let them breathe off it” type of sharing air. I was very wrong. I had never heard of buddy breathing (an older SCUBA practice that was popular before a second emergency regulator was part of the standard diving kit; it is not a common technique and is used more to test stress while diving), so I was completely confused and did not complete the exercise the way it was intended. It certainly wasn’t my fault, but I still was not happy about it because I knew it made me look incredibly inexperienced.

Me completing the mask clearing exercise.

I should have come up from that dive feeling as though I had accomplished something. I didn’t. I came up completely defeated. “Very good, Brooke!” my dive buddy had said, but none of that really sank in. I was told several times that day that I had done well, but I didn’t believe any of it and just felt tremendously upset with myself. This had been the first dive in a month due to bad sea conditions, and I nearly cried alone in the office thinking that it may be another month before I had the opportunity to try again. I felt as though I had one chance to truly savor the dive time and learn and that I had ruined it by allowing self-doubt and pressure to drain everything wonderful from it.

I realized a few things after that dive. One of the most important things you need to do is talk about how you feel. When you are part of a team, it’s important that you communicate with that team and that you know what is expected of you and what isn’t. I discovered I had been placing way too much pressure on myself to accomplish things I wasn’t expected to do for quite some time. I had also been accidentally coming off as a “know-it-all” because every time someone mentioned something I had done wrong or something I needed to work on, I had an excuse for my actions. In reality, did always have a valid excuse, and all of my “mistakes” were well thought out and executed based on my training. I never just did them blindly, and I felt like I needed them to know that or else they would think less of me. But, I was appearing as though I was inflexible or unwilling to learn, which was the exact opposite of how I felt. I always want to learn, and every good diver knows that they are constantly learning. You could have 3,000 dives and still have a lot to learn. If we had not communicated about the situation, we would have been going in circles forever and I would have been miserable trying to work my way up to something that was completely out of my control while they would have become increasingly concerned about me or frustrated. Regardless of how terrifying it is, you have to communicate your feelings. You have to be open and honest with people. If they look down on you for your inexperience or for needing to talk about the things that are bothering you, that is their problem.

In the future, I am going to work on placing less pressure on myself and going with an open mind. I am going to find that joy I once had during diving. I am going to love it again. But it may take a little while, and it won’t happen overnight. I will keep fighting to get back to that point, though. I will enjoy diving again.

I have had many wonderful moments during my dives, however. One of the most exhilarating moments for me happened while I was waiting for my dive buddy to finish quadrat samples. I was hovering over a spot when I noticed a pintarroja (a species of catshark) dart past me. I was sad that it was so quick, I hardly had the chance to admire it. Suddenly, I felt as though there was something underneath me. I looked below me to see a beautiful, large pintarroja sitting directly below me. I couldn’t believe how close I was, and I tried to remain as still as possible and breathe as deeply as I could in order to produce less bubbles that could disturb the shark. I watched as its gills moved back and forth as it seemingly ignored me. Eventually my presence became too much and the shark took off, but I was elated to have seen it. Another time I saw one of the biggest borrachillas (one of my favorite fish species here in Chile) I had ever seen. It was enormous and a vivid yellow-green, and it was bravely defending its territory as two smaller borrachillas desperately tried to enter its rock crevice. Another time I saw a huge, gorgeous rollizo (a long, slender-bodied fish with white spots) as I was moving to a new site. Both of us stopped and looked at each other for a few seconds, and eventually the rollizo decided I was not a threat and continued off in the direction it was going. On the last dive where I completed my exercises, I saw a school of fish larvae moving together in the current as I practiced neutral buoyancy, and I watched as the hundreds of little fish moved together as one group through the clearing towards the kelp forests. That same dive, my buddy noticed a beautiful flounder and pushed me towards it so I could get a photograph. Sadly the fish took off as soon as I was about to press the shutter, but it was still lovely that we were able to see such a magnificent creature.

These moments and others like it are the moments I need to cling to. These are the moments that should be determining my dives. I cannot allow my insecurities to ruin the beauty that I’ve encountered. I’m taking back the happiness that I stole from myself. I’m going to be an excited, happy diver yet again. It might take some time, but I will get there. I promise.

Photo: Rodrigo Alarcon

An Anxious Mind

     When I turned three years old, my family held a party in my childhood backyard as the last of summer's rays began to fade into fall. A large group of people had come to celebrate my third trip around the sun, but that day under the blue sky among the fading green hues and festivities something in me violently flickered on. I don't remember it well, but my mother remembers it distinctly. All of the people, noise, and stimulation quickly became too much for me, so I ran to the only place I knew I could find solitude: the forest. Even at a young age, I knew that nature was my safe space. I ignored the calls from people coming after me as ran as fast as I could towards the safety of the trees while tears streamed down my face. 

     Since that day almost twenty years ago I have dealt with anxiety. Anxiety has shaped my life in many ways and has dictated a number of decisions in both my academic and personal life. I cannot tell you the number of times that I have said "no" to an opportunity because it terrified me. I also don't talk about my anxiety. I can count the number of people I've talked to about it on one hand, and it took years for me to even tell them. It was never something I felt I needed to talk about, it was my problem and I would deal with it on my own. I didn't want to burden others with my problems and I certainly didn't want them to see me as "weak" or "crazy." This was especially important in academic spaces and places where I performed research and/or dove. It was critical that people saw me as competent and unbreakable, not as a scared girl withdrawing into herself. Most of my life I kept my anxiety and my personal issues to myself. I suffered alone. I was a strong enough woman, I could handle it without needing to involve other people. 

     But what do you do when you are suddenly thrust into a place where virtually everything that makes you nervous is thrown at you at the same time while you are simultaneously fighting through mountains of work and other personal stresses? What do you do when it's so much at once that you feel yourself starting to lose your grip?

     Being a scientist with anxiety can be so incredibly difficult. I worked so hard during my undergraduate years to actually learn and understand the material because I knew it was important, and I know that I understand the concepts. Sometimes, however, working in a laboratory when you are still in the process of learning the specific protocols can make you doubt yourself tremendously. I constantly find myself doubting things that in university I would have never doubted. That self-deprecating cycle spins itself mercilessly as I find myself panicking because I don't get something right on the first try. I'll feel my heart rate rise as I worry because I don't automatically know how to do a technique that, quite frankly, I shouldn't know how to do since I haven't been working here all of my life. I feel the pressure to be the perfect scientist, the perfect Spanish speaker, and the perfect social person. All of my anxieties and self-doubts race around in my head alongside my stress and sometimes it is all just too much. Sometimes I simply feel lost in an endless sea with no one to help me, a lone sailor with no stars to guide me home. 

     Being a human with anxiety can be so incredibly difficult, too. At the end, we are all humans with emotions, backgrounds, and motivations that shape who we are and how we think. Everyone is different, everyone handles things differently. Everyone moves at a different pace, and that is okay. You should never judge your progress based on someone else's progress. Progress is still progress, regardless of the speed. For me, I often find that it takes me substantially longer to do something that is often considered "normal" for others. It took me two years to use the bus system in Chile because it terrified me, but eventually I did it in my own time on my own terms. A flower blooms when it is ready. You will achieve it, but it will happen when it is time.

     It is so important to have a support system. For years, I thought I had to do it completely on my own. I thought if I opened up to someone, it would bother them, burden them, or make them think less of me. I didn't want to place the exhaustion and strain I constantly felt onto someone else, and so for most of my life I remained quiet and never said a word to anyone. No one knew, and that was exactly how I liked it. I held onto my secrets so tightly as if they were diamonds instead of hot coals that were burning my skin and tearing me to shreds. But sometimes, life becomes too much for one person to handle on their own. After years of silence, I finally opened up to a few trusted people. Hearing the precious words "I understand you" is like cool water in a vast, wind-beaten and sun-stricken wilderness. People who care about you want to help you, and they want to help you become a better person. Having someone who understands that maybe parties make you anxious or that "normal" activities are sometimes too much for you can make a tremendous difference. Opening up was one of the best things I ever did, but I'm still holding back a lot. I still fight the feeling of burdening or exhausting people. I still restrain myself from talking about most of my anxieties and issues for fear that people will see me as someone who is exhausting to be around or has too many problems. Why is it that when I use the phrase, "You can talk to me about anything you need, I'm always here for you," I mean it with the utmost sincerity, but the second someone tells me the exact same thing I doubt myself and feel too terrified to tell them anything? I fight that feeling every single day. 

     The people who care about you want to help you. If someone thinks less of you because of your anxiety, they are not worth your time. "Don't feel ashamed about your anxiety," a friend told me. I am slowly learning that people do care and that you don't have to suffer alone. Anxiety is not a mark of shame and it doesn't mean something is wrong with you, it's just the way that your mind processes things at the moment. It's a coping mechanism. We can't control the things that happen to us in our lives, but we can certainly control the way that we respond to them.

     Over the years I have taken steps to soften my anxiety. I needed healing, for myself and for no one else. I tried to educate myself on different mechanisms for coping and I confronted myself to find out what was triggering my anxiety and the root of it. I watched TED Talks, read information, and took classes on the subject. I learned breathing techniques and methods to subdue myself. There are small steps that you can take to decrease anxiety, and many of them are simple. I learned that whenever I felt too nervous, I needed to stop, take a moment of composure, and breathe. Sometimes you need to take yourself out of the situation and escape it for a few moments. It is okay to leave an event early if it becomes too taxing for you. If a party becomes too much for my nerves or there is too much stimulation, I make the decision for myself to say goodbye and leave because I am important. My mental health, my feelings, and my general well-being are more important than my perception of how others view me. In moments of anxiety, focusing on small things or doing things that are pleasant to you can help lessen the degree of nervousness. A still moment in the sun with a warm cup of tea helps to reduce the shaking in my hands and my fluttering heartbeat. Perhaps tea works for you as well, or maybe listening to soft music helps pull you out of your head a little bit.

     I find that things that remind you that you are capable are also very important. We recently had a guest speaker who talked about a subject that truly fascinated me, and for the first time in a few months I felt as though I was an intelligent, engaged scientist in my field. I was able to anticipate what he would say before he said it, and I was able to follow everything he discussed. I didn't feel insecure, I didn't feel lost. For the first time in a long time, I felt intelligent and felt the rush I got from engaging in research in my field. That was a beautiful, healing day for me. Seek out opportunities that remind you that you are fully capable of whatever you try to accomplish. 

     Activities that relax you and take you out of your head tend to be helpful aids in combating anxiety. SCUBA diving is one of the few things that relaxes me. As I heard someone say in a TED Talk, I am relaxed during SCUBA because I "only need to focus on one thing." I don't need to think about grad school, my projects, money, personal issues, or self-doubt, I just need to focus on the dive. I breathe better when I dive, and seeing the animals and the world that I love invigorate and rejuvenate me. Painting relaxes me, too. A few weeks after arriving in Chile I was so exhausted and anxious that I was starting to let my anxieties and irritation slip, and so I sat myself down for an entire weekend and only painted. I returned to work a changed woman. Finding hobbies or activities that allow your mind to rest are critical for combating anxiety and can mean the difference between moving on or staying stuck in the same place.

     I find that anxiety has helped me to be kinder to people. I understand what it feels like to be in their position, and thus I can be sensitive to their feelings and help them to overcome the situation. People are important, and their thoughts and feelings are important. If I can help someone avoid pain, heartache, or self-doubt, I want to do everything in my power to do so because I understand that feeling. Something that struck me recently is a particularly beautiful poem by Rupi Kaur:

how is it so easy for you

to be kind to people he asked

milk and honey dripped

from my lips as i answered

cause people have not

been kind to me

I want to be kindness. I want to be love. I want to be a refuge to someone.

     Perhaps I will never fully overcome anxiety. But, I have come a long way. I am better than I was ten years ago, or even five years ago, or even five months ago. Progress is not a straight line, and sometimes progress goes backwards a little or a few steps to the left. But, as long as you make sure to get up, brush off the dust and continue moving forward, you are making progress. I am progressing. I am healing. I am better than I was, and I will become better still. Talking about my anxiety is hard, but I hope that perhaps it will help someone feel less alone. I know what it is like to feel so alone, but listen to me: you are not. There is still kindness to be found in this world. I know it may be hard and it may feel endless, but your sea is not empty. Anxiety is not your captor, and you can overcome it. You are stronger than you believe, and you are deserving of love, happiness and peace. 

Darling, you are not alone, and you are understood. I promise.

Adventures in SCUBA Part 1

     I have wanted to become a SCUBA diver virtually my entire life. The thought of diving underwater and coming face to face with all of the creatures I had seen in books and documentaries always enamored me. Unfortunately, diving is a very expensive endeavor and thus it was never something that was within my reach. I spent many years of my life desperately hoping that one day I would become SCUBA certified, but for me it felt as though that day was very far into the future. 

     Last year I had enough funding from grants to finally make my dream a reality. I took the class and purchased my first set of gear, and before I knew it I was diving regularly. I was in disbelief: I had waited for so long for this dream to come true and now I was 30 feet underwater breathing relatively naturally while a congregation of curious Bluegill fish surrounded me. I felt so comfortable and calm underwater, and I quickly became obsessed with diving. I wanted to do it all of the time and wanted to learn everything I could about it. I couldn't stop talking about it, I was simply so elated to finally be diving.

     Over the past year I worked diligently to practice my skills underwater and make them second nature so that I would be prepared to dive in Chile. The diving conditions in Chile tend to be rather rough due to the natural currents, sometimes strong waves and cold temperatures. It was important to me that I was prepared enough to handle the rougher conditions so that I could be an asset to my lab when diving, and therefore I treated every practice dive seriously and worked arduously to hone my skills. I dove as frequently as possible even when I had tests looming over me because becoming a proficient diver was so important to me. 

     Diving is something that is best learned through constant repetition. Descending beneath the surface with the intent of improvement greatly increases your growth as a diver, and constantly and consistently working on skills makes them more like second nature. One of the critical skills that I worked on was controlling anxiety. The last thing you want to do when diving is panic, so as a naturally anxious person I trained myself to remain calm at all times when underwater. Whenever I felt myself becoming nervous, I forced myself to immediately breathe slowly and deeply in order to convince my body to relax. I am so calm underwater, something I need to work on transferring to times when I am above water.

     Every time I dove, I envisioned my first dive in Chile. I was excited and a little nervous, but as the time came closer, I was ready to make the dive that I had been training for during the past year.

DIVE ONE

     I had done every conceivable thing on my end to be prepared to dive in Chile and help my lab with research dives. I woke up at 5:00 AM and drove an hour and a half every Sunday morning to the dive site and paid for my air out of my own pocket to make sure that I was ready. However, I knew it would be an uphill battle to get myself to dive at the station due to conditions out of my control.

     I had been told "no" many, many times before for various situations, often due to my inexperience. In terms of SCUBA, I decided that "no" would never become a stopping point for me and that I would never give up. Diving was too important to me and I had done too much to lay down and die. Unfortunately, however, it appeared as though getting me diving was not nearly as important to others as it was to me. My lab mates understood (to a degree), but it wasn't up to them. After being told "no" and being treated as though I had no experience on three separate occasions within a two week span, I was quite frankly devastated. Everything I had worked so hard for didn't seem to be appreciated and seemed to be crumbling around me. I had brought all of my own gear and everything, but it didn't seem to help the situation. It looked as if I would never be considered despite my rigorous training. Part of me was concerned that it was because I was a woman (plus I am very petite) and part of me wondered if my first ill-fated snorkeling trip was still lingering around the edges.

    And then before I knew it, my first dive was about to happen. We needed animals for an upcoming project and I would be assisting with the collection. The dive would only be two people, me and my lab mate, and we would do a shore dive. I was relieved that it would only be the two of us; focusing only on one person would make the situation less stressful for me. I also had good communication with my dive buddy and trusted him, both of which are important for diving, especially in unfamiliar areas. I was excited, but I was also very nervous. I felt a lot of pressure to be the perfect diver. I felt like I had to do absolutely everything correctly or I would never be able to dive again. I had a lot of weight on me (quite literally). I kept repeating my training in my head over and over again and reminding myself of everything I had to do. I had all of the possible situations and appropriate responses mapped out in my head in case something were to happen, and I had gone over the dive plan countless times. I was pensive to say the least.

     On a frigid but sunny morning, I looked out to sea and prepped my dive equipment for the dive I had waited to do for most of my life. Diving in the ocean had been my dream for so long, and I was only minutes from realizing that dream. I was nervous, but I was ready.

    My plan for everything to go perfectly went out the window in about five seconds. Things that had never gone wrong during all my 22 previous dives went wrong during this one. I fell twice while entering the water (once because my lab mate tripped on my fin and once because there was a drop in the sand and I wasn't very stable with all the weight), my mask flooded at least five times (it wasn't tight enough, but I have since fixed it and haven't had more leaks), I was severely overweighted since this was my first time diving in saltwater and I wasn't sure how many weights to use (meaning achieving neutral buoyancy was very difficult), my fin came off, my regulator leaked and my BCD and tank slid completely to one side and started pulling me down during the surface swim since I had to readjust all of the bands for the new tank setup. But, I relied completely on my training. I stayed calm, breathed deeply, and did exactly as I was trained. Regardless of everything, however, it was one of the most rewarding dives of my life.

     We surface swam to the location and my buddy pointed to a particularly shallow area and said we would descend there. I was immediately concerned. I wear a 7mm full wetsuit plus a 7mm hooded vest, meaning that I have a 14mm neoprene core that makes me super buoyant. My suit doesn't normally compress until about 15 feet/5 meters, so anything above that is difficult to dive because my body wants to float straight to the surface. "Can we go somewhere a little deeper?" We found somewhere only slightly deeper and I decided to just go with it and hope for the best. I didn't have any reason to worry. With all those extra weights, I went down immediately with no trouble, as a matter of fact a little faster than I would have liked to have descended (you want to descend very slowly). I slowed myself and regained my composure, then slowly followed my buddy as we descended into the kelp forests. In central Chile the kelp forests are more akin to bushes, and the environment is made up of boulders haphazardly settled around the rocky or sandy bottom with groups of kelp bushes along the boulders. For years I had only heard about this ecosystem, and now I was seeing it for myself. Everything began to fall into place and my understanding of my research and the ecosystem itself began to come together rapidly in my mind.

     We made it to our destination and my buddy signaled for me to stay in one spot for a second while he collected the nearby animals. I chose a spot and hovered above it with one hand on a rock below to steady myself as I acclimated to this foreign world. I was situated underneath a few kelp bushes that were swaying in the surge and current. I had never experienced surge or current having only dove in a tranquil quarry, and while at first swinging back and forth out of my control was a bit unnerving I eventually got used to the feeling. All around me animals that were either minding their own business or that were slightly curious about me continued their everyday lives as I watched in complete awe. This was something I had dreamed of for years, and now all of the animals I had known from photographs or from seeing in the lab setting were right in front of me in their natural habitat. Amidst the swaying kelp fronds that tossed the incoming light across the rock faces, I saw scores of red shrimp emerge from behind boulders and small fish dart out from their hiding places as I melted into a world I had only dreamed of seeing. 

     My dive buddy signaled for me to follow him to another site and I followed him closely as we glided over the unfamiliar landscape. I checked my gauge and dive computer and everything seemed to be going well. We collected animals from a few more sites (and I was attacked by a rather angry crab), and I began to feel more and more comfortable. When you train in the same equipment and dive repeatedly, you become comfortable and confident within the sphere of yourself and your equipment, so when you dive a new site it is more like adding a new element to your dive rather than the dive itself being a completely new and unnerving experience. I had worked constantly to feel comfortable with myself and my gear underwater so I wouldn't have to focus on fiddling with unfamiliar equipment or with trying to achieve neutral buoyancy for example (for non-divers, this is the feeling of "weightlessness" while diving where you can hover without having to strain yourself to stay afloat over the bottom) while trying to also get used to a new and unfamiliar site.

     We traversed over craggy rocks and beneath the canopy of brown algae fronds. The turquoise waters danced around us as we ascended over the forests and I breathed out a sigh of pure bliss and relief. I had made it. It had taken me so many years, but I was finally diving in the place I loved the most. Ocean diving had been a far off dream and now, at last, I was here.

     At one point we were crossing through a rocky underbrush of kelp and suddenly I felt my fin come off on a rock. At first I felt a pit in my stomach and felt myself begin to breathe more rapidly and my heart rate increase as my dive buddy drifted away from me, but I immediately yelled "NO" to myself and slowed my breathing. I calmly turned myself around and saw my fin floating gently behind me. I retrieved the fin and swam up to my buddy, got his attention, and we remedied the problem. In that moment I was horrified that it had happened because I felt as though it made me look inexperienced (I had never had a fin come off during a SCUBA dive previously but of course it had to happen now), but I was also very proud of myself because I had calmly resolved the issue. My dive buddy and I also had excellent communication, which is critical when diving and greatly decreased my hesitation. I've made it a habit to use the "Okay? Okay!" signal any time I make eye contact with someone underwater (which has transferred to above water activities, too), and I try to use clear signals so that my buddy(ies) understand my exact intentions. The habits I had developed served me well as my dive buddy and I communicated only through hand signals. 

     We quickly collected all of the animals that we needed, but both of us had quite a bit of air left in our tanks. My buddy decided to take me "sightseeing" around the nearby area, just for fun and not for work. I followed him as he did a little spin just to show off (granted, I've been dying to try the spinning trick and I love to do it when snorkeling), and I felt my body relax further as the craggy rocks opened up into a turquoise blue expanse of sand and open space. I saw my very first rollizo (a long, dark fish with white spots running in a line along its body) as it darted out in front of us. I saw a school of fish with species I had never seen before, and my buddy pointed out a lovely little sea slug. I don't think he will ever know how happy, relieved, and proud I was in that moment and how much that dive meant to me.

     We eventually had to end the dive so that we could bring the animals with us to the marine station, and as we soared over the dancing kelp forests and ascended back into the terrestrial world, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness that it was over. But, I had so many dives in store. I still do. 

     That dive was perhaps the single most important one of my diving career thus far. I had finally accomplished something I had fought for so long to achieve, but I also realized a few very important truths. I had placed so much unhealthy pressure on myself to be perfect because I felt like I had to be perfect in order to dive more or even at all. I did everything in my power to make myself a self-sufficient diver. I even practiced putting on all of my gear with no help because I was so terrified that asking someone to help me zip up my BCD for instance would make me appear weak or inexperienced. I couldn't show any weakness or inexperience, only proficiency. However, in a certain sense that was unnecessary. My skill set alone was enough to speak for itself. It's okay to ask for help sometimes. It's okay to be inexperienced. I didn't have to be completely perfect to achieve my goals. I didn't have to be terrified that losing a fin would cost me my entire diving career in Chile. I often catch myself feeling as though I am inadequate because I don't know as much as the rest of the lab technicians. However, I can't be expected to know everything. There are bound to be techniques and concepts that I won't know, won't understand, or need to be taught in order to understand. But, there are things that I know and understand that they don't. I cannot allow myself to fall into the trap of self-doubt and I cannot allow others to make me feel terrible for not knowing how to do something. Once you can separate yourself from how others think of you (or your perception of how others see you), you can accomplish so much more and you can find inner peace.

     Diving teaches you so much more than just how to breathe underwater. It makes you more aware of our precious underwater world, gives you valuable techniques that you can apply to your terrestrial life, and empowers you to grow and develop as a person. I feel like such a stronger person now that I am a diver. I feel like I can do almost anything I put my mind to. I am thrilled to dive for the rest of my life. My first ocean dive was a tremendous accomplishment for me. I am thankful for everyone who helped me train, and I am forever grateful to my lab mate who accompanied me during the dive. There will be many more dives in my life, but this one will always be special to me. Everyone remembers their first ocean dive, right?