From Beginner Diving Struggles to Mindfulness

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Planning Sparks a Memory Trip

I’m sprawled out, planning my next dive trip—suitcase open, gear list pulled up from on phone—and my brain’s like, “Hey, let’s rewind to when you were a total trainwreck at this.” Oh, fun, a highlight reel of my flops. I’ve rambled about some of this in old blogs—if you’ve read them, just humor me, okay? First dive? Ego bigger than the boat, skills smaller than a shrimp. Then Moalboal, my first travel dive, where I went from sweaty newbie to—get this—actually calm. Diving’s a weird one. It started with me sucking so bad I nearly quit, then somehow turned into my chill-out trick. Let’s walk through it, because apparently my head’s got time to kill.

First Dive: Pride vs. Buoyancy

First dive ever, I’m walking to the water like I’m about to own the sea. Fins on, mask fogged up already—because of course it is—thinking, “Watch me crush this.” I’ve got this image in my head: me gliding down, cool as a shark, buddies in awe. Then I jump in and… nada. I can’t sink. I’m blowing out bubbles like I am a fish, I don’t need air to break! Yelling at myself, “Go down, you fool!”—and I drop 1 meter. One. Pathetic. Meter. I’m a human cork, bobbing there while my buddy’s already chilling at the bottom, probably counting fish. My pride’s drowning way faster than I am, and that’s not saying much.

Was I even made for this? I’m stressing—lungs tight, heart pounding—watching my buddy nail it. He’s signaling something, and I’m like, “What? Feed the fish? Wave bye?” I’ve got no clue. The instructor’s up top, giving me that pity nod—while telling me “You can do this!” I try harder—more bubbles—and still, 1 meter. I’m thinking, “Great, I’m the buoy they’ll tie the boat to.” My mask’s leaking now, because why not, and I’m half-blind, swallowing saltwater, wondering if I should just paddle back and call it a day. Total rookie chaos, and the ocean’s just sitting there, unbothered.

Moalboal: Rookie on Tour

Then there’s Moalboal—my first travel dive, and I’m the greenest one on the boat. It’s me and a group—mostly women, my girlfriend included, plus the dive instructor who put this whole trip together. No fixed buddy, just me trying to keep up. The ride out’s a mess in my head. I know their oxygen intake’s way lower than mine—women, smaller lungs, slower breathing, it’s science. Meanwhile, I’m over here, a guy with a tank strapped on, already stressing I’ll suck air like a vacuum and leave us all gasping. I’m the rookie, and it’s obvious—I’m fiddling with my mask, checking my fins, while they’re chatting about currents and depths like it’s no big deal. My girlfriend’s tossing me a smile, but inside I’m muttering, “Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up.” The instructor’s cool, running the show, but I’m still thinking, “I’m the one who’s gonna blow this for everyone.” It’s me against my own lungs, my own panic, and I’m losing before we even hit the water.

The Deep Blue Drift

But then—underwater, it’s different. I sink this time, no 1-meter nonsense. It’s smooth, like the sea just grabs me and says, “Come on down.” I’m drifting with the current, hugging this huge coral wall, and it’s so calm I almost call it boring. Ha—me, bored at 20 meters? Please. No, it’s not boring—it’s unreal. I turn my head, glaring into that deep blue, and everything shuts off. No boat noise, no brain chatter, just this endless stretch of blue, dark and quiet, like staring into the edge of nothing. Bubbles float up slow, tiny fish dart past, and I’m just… there.

I barely kick—the current’s doing the work—and the wall’s right beside me, all rough coral and little critters poking out. I glance at it, then back to the blue, and it’s hypnotic. Like the ocean’s this big, silent blanket, wrapping me up. I’m drifting, weightless, and it’s so peaceful I forget I was ever stressed. Those “boring” moments? They’re gold. Just me, the wall, the blue—nothing rushing, nothing loud. It hits so natural I don’t even try to fight it. Who knew floating along could feel like this?

Gear That Clicked

In that Moalboal calm, my gear starts clicking too. That watch-style dive computer I’ve got on? It’s not just there to look pretty anymore. Down there, drifting easy, I finally get how it works—checking my air, my depth, all right there on my wrist. It’s like this quiet little safety net, keeping me steady when my head’s usually a tornado. I’m not saying it made me a dive wizard—my skills are still a solid “needs work”—but it took the edge off. I could see I wasn’t sucking air like a rookie this time, and that extra layer of calm? Priceless.

Want one that’s simple and won’t cost an arm? The Suunto Zoop Novo Watch [Amazon] is my pick—light, clear, and doesn’t scream “gear geek” when I’m walking through the airport. Moalboal was where it sank in—pun intended—that this thing’s my backup when my brain’s not. No more guessing if I’m good down there; it just tells me. Saved me from my own panic, and that’s worth every penny.

Diving’s My Chill Now

So yeah, diving started ugly—me sucking so bad I was a floating joke, pride trashed, stuck at 1 meter like a sad beach ball. I worried my buddy was better (thankfully, he wasn’t), worried I’d never get it. Moalboal turned that around. Drifting there, glaring into that deep blue, I found this quiet I didn’t know I could handle. It’s not about being some dive pro—still waiting on that upgrade—but about letting go of the mess. Every dive now stacks up in this weird memory labyrinth in my head. I replay those bits—the bubbles, the blue, the coral walls—and it’s like my own little chill-out playlist.

It even helps me sleep now, which is huge when my brain’s usually sprinting at midnight. I’ll lie there, picturing that Moalboal drift, the wall, the blue, and I’m out. Next trip’s coming, and I can’t wait to add more to this mental stash—more quiet, more calm, more moments where I’m not a flailing rookie. I’m still no expert—let’s not kid ourselves—but I’ve got the relax part locked down. Thanks, ocean, for not caring about my 1-meter days. What’s your dive story—still flopping around, or found your chill yet?

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