Swimming with Sharks

Since I now live in South Carolina and I am therefore able to enjoy the beach for many months out of the year, I was thinking it might be a good time for me to pursue my dream of becoming a super-cool surfer. By the way, I am not being conceited by dubbing myself “super-cool” in this mythical future life I will likely not see through to fruition. The fact is simply that if you are a surfer, then you are super cool. If you have seen Point Break, then you know what I mean. It just goes with the territory. It is just like if you play football, you are therefore a meatball. See what I am saying?

Partially unfounded stereotypes aside, it seems that in light of recent events, i.e. Cat Attack 2009 (see the “Grace Under Pressure” entry for background), I am somewhat discouraged about this future I had envisioned for myself as a super-cool surfer. If I cannot fend off a domestic cat with neither grace nor grit, then how on earth will I fare when faced with a (presumably) blood-thirsty shark?

It seems my future may have to go in another direction altogether. Perhaps I ought to consider moving to Alaska to become an ice-fisherwoman. Then I would literally be super-cool.

But frankly, this dashed surfer dream is not completely unfortunate. Being a full-fledged surfer would, after all, be going against the natural grain of my type-A personality. I was a bit fearful that to really fit into the culture, I would have to alter my whole persona—start walking around barefoot, listening to reggae, and sleeping in tents on Costa Rican vacations. And by “vacation” here, I actually mean torture, as I equate camping with an activity several steps down from a root canal in terms of enjoyment. At least with invasive dental procedures they give you prescription drugs. S’mores, while delicious, just do not make “roughing it” worthwhile for me. In any case, it was not so much that I wanted to embrace the surfer lifestyle (as I have so neatly stereotyped it here), but rather that I wanted to give the actual sport a whirl.

To ward off the skeptical reaction of my friends, family, and acquaintances, I did not just come up with this future vocation at random. I actually have experience: I went surfing one time in my life. It was about ten years ago, and boy did I show promise. I was in Australia and I was convinced, after spending two hours in the water with a board and a very patient instructor, that I would be riding waves for a long time to come. As I rested from the grueling and satisfying business of wave-wrangling, I remember relishing in my newfound calling. I was sitting on the beach, staring at the ocean/my newly identified “homeland,” and proclaimed to my instructor: “I am going to surf every day for the rest of the time I am here.” He said that sounded great, he loved my enthusiasm.

He then asked the group at large if it would be all right to take a break because he had just seen a very large sting-ray in the water and did not feel like dealing with taking any of us to the hospital or having us die on his watch that day. He said it in the same tone one might say, “Want to grab a beer later?” We all hastily agreed to the break. I then promptly abandoned all surfing aspirations in the measure of time that had previously eluded me, but I now understood all too well: the nano-second.

So, as might be evident by the fact that I am even sharing this story with the virtual world, I am working on conquering some of my fears. One such fear is the ocean, and all that lies within its unpredictable waters. This fear had been standing (sloshing?) in the way of my surfer dreams and it had been feeling like a good time to face it head-on. Just to reiterate: the most prominent of my marine life fears are sharks. Sharks are followed a close second, due to the Australia experience, by sting-rays. Sting-rays are followed a distant third by guppies which, as someone who is sort of a loner, weird me out in their need to move around in large hordes.

The main issue however was sharks. I had recently been building up the confidence to again try my hand at surfing, and I was beginning to think that, should I come face to face with a shark, I would react calmly and, as folklore has recommended, defensively. Yes, indeed, I would merely pop malicious predator shark on his schnoz or give him a quick jab between his eyes and be on my way, leaving a newly stunned shark in the wake of my indignant flutter kick. I really began to believe that in the moment of crisis, I would be rational, reasonable, and ready.

The major problem with my delusional thinking, other than the fact that it was delusional, was that the whole cat situation blew it to bits. Being attacked by a domestic house cat who had apparently forgone his meds that morning (the other plausible excuse for his behavior being that he is a Gemini) illustrated my true colors as to my capabilities when faced with unexpected and rather aggressive forces of nature. That cat really threw me for a loop and resulted in a tremendous wavering of confidence. What if, floating along on my board, fully satiated by a bowl of granola, and perked up by a cup of chai tea (what I believe to be standard surfer lifestyle sustenance), a shark comes up with the intent of biting me? Somehow, I do not think that the “Please leave me alone, you are being mean” tactic that failed so miserable with psycho kitty would prove any more effectual under those circumstances. Sharky might be hauling off with my left arm and I would be flailing about, squeaking out a meek and garbled: “Please, sir, I think you might be crazy.”

In need of some counsel on the predicament as a non would-be surfer, I posed the question to my friend Geoff. Geoff, never one to mince words, also possesses little to no tolerance for questions he deems “stupid.” Incidentally, this descriptor applies to most questions posed to Geoff as he has maintained for some time that 95% of the people in the world are either stupid or ugly. Most, according to Geoff, are both.

When I reminded him of this fact a few years after he said it, he looked shocked and responded: “I said that? Really? Wow.”

Maggie: “I know, it sounds extreme.”

Geoff: “Actually, I think I was being generous. I would say more like 98%.”

The fact that I am even his friend is sort of unbelievable.

In any case, I told Geoff about my shark dilemma and how my fear was a real hindrance which I sought to overcome. Geoff, without expression (or even much interest), responded in a definitive (dismissive?) tone, “I am 100% positive you will not be attacked by a shark. Ever.”

Now how exactly can Geoff, who in my humble opinion has a slight tendency to fancy himself omniscient (yet I can never call him on that because, unlike me, Geoff is almost always reasonable, rational, and most irritating of all, right), speak with such conviction on an outcome that most people could agree is rather unpredictable?
I asked him again.

Now losing patience, ever so slightly, for the fact that the dumb question was not only asked, but now it has to be repeated, he responds: “Mags, I know 100% without a doubt that you will never be attacked by sharks.”

Okay smarty-pants Geoff, how about this: “What if I go surfing every single day of every single summer for the next 15 years, then you certainly could not know 100% that I would never be attacked by sharks. The odds would have to go up.”

Geoff, affect-less as ever: “No. That would never happen. I told you.”

Maggie: “How do you KNOW that?”

Geoff: “Because, based on what you told me you would never go surfing that much.”

Maggie: “Why?”

Geoff: “Because you are way too afraid of sharks.”

Hmm. Good point. Dang.

So maybe I will not realize my dream of being a super-cool surfer. In fact, I may just have to settle for being neither super-cool, nor a surfer. But, that outcome feels rather unsatisfying given that it would leave me in exactly the same position I have long occupied. As I feel I ought to do something, I will continue to work on my fear of the ocean, and I might therefore go for a swim tomorrow. Or I will at least dip my toes in, depending on how many sharks I estimate to be in the area.

And with that, my future as a quasi-cool wader has begun.