Hey you.
First: There’s nothing new in the shop this week. I’m still working on Snowflakes and pen commissions. However, I’ve been remiss in mentioning that I do offer what amounts to a payment plan surprise pen subscription (people asked for it) on Patreon. In lieu of not much else to share, I figured I’d mention that. The new jewelry collection is slowly gaining steam, however. I just need to get these Snowflake orders and pen commissions out first. (Thank you to those of you who have ordered Snowflakes.)
And off we go.
A few years back, my kids gave me a video game for Christmas. I used to game regularly, and they knew I enjoyed it. They figured that I just needed a good game to get back into it and have fun with it again. (It’s more a matter of time, really.) They gave me a game all three of them loved and enjoyed, though each for different reasons: one for the creatures, one for the strategy, one for the thrill of exploration. The game was Subnautica – a game where you’re stranded on an alien planet, alone, and the planet’s surface is, as far as they tell you, entirely underwater. (Hence the name: sub – under, nautica – of the Sea.) What my kids did not know was that I, despite years of competitive swimming and lifeguarding, am absolutely freaked out by the unknown aspects of swimming in open water. So, essentially, this game they meant to be a way to get back into a hobby I loved and relaxed with ended up being a gorgeous anxiety attack in a box with an award-winning soundtrack designed to make even the most unflappable jump.
Believe it or not, I still play it, though not often. It’s probably the only game I make time to play. I actively listen to the soundtrack on a pretty regular basis when not playing it, too. I don’t do this because my kids gave it to me, but because, even with how much it freaks me out, it’s really worth playing. It’s that good of a game. If I’d let my fears win, I’d have missed out on some of the most gorgeous video game art I’ve personally played (a field I went to school for at one point), a fascinating story, amazing mechanics, and one of my favorite soundtracks since The Lion King. I could have chickened out, but I’m glad I didn’t.
The thing is though, there are reasons to be scared of the things in unknown and deep water. There are things that absolutely will rip you limb from limb, assuming you don’t drown first – but there are amazing sights and discoveries down there, too. Knee-jerk fear can hold you back from some of the most amazing experiences in your life, and as a result, it is not enough of a reason to not do something – be it a video game or even open water swimming. (Which I am much more at ease with now, as well.)
Plus, experiencing fear teaches you a tremendous amount about yourself. Well, if you’re willing to take the perceived risks and face it- something you’re gonna have to do, especially if you want to swim at those depths.
However, not all of us get a choice in whether or not we face our fears. Sometimes we get thrown in the deep end and are told by circumstances to sink or swim. Some sink and drown. Some doggy-paddle to the shore. Some learn to swim and find their fears were unfounded. Some sink, learn to swim, and then stay down there, looking for the next depth they can explore and shed light on.
“They think that because we can show them the bottom, they could survive it.”
I said that to my best friend today, talking about the frustration that comes with openly sharing the inner workings involved in swimming at those depths – of facing fear, of exploring the dark caves of the soul and psyche, of taking risks, of the courage, confidence, and pressure-tolerance it takes to stay down there. I was venting to them because I’d shared something otherwise very difficult to explain, and gotten back a private message with a platitude about how it sounded like I was healing. I’d also been misunderstood earlier in the week talking about coping skills. I was frustrated, because here I was, having spent a good chunk of this week taking some pretty challenging concepts and translating them into layman’s terms – and was getting back platitudes and attempts to counsel me. It was maddening.
I was not sharing for me. I have already done this work – I’m sharing the results, the map, the gas ratio on the scuba tanks, and the pressure readings down there, just in case it might help.
I am trying to make the bottom visible so it might be less terrifying if someone else ever has to swim down there.
Before anyone tries to console: I know, all too well, that people read and understand from their own, current, level of experience and understanding, and yes, I know most people share on social media when they need support and can’t get that offline. I also know most people don’t share raw emotions or vulnerable experiences – online or offline – mostly out of fear of being seen as weak or vulnerable. Who would willingly share their inner workings if they weren’t desperate to be consoled, understood, comforted, in dire need of catharsis? No one shares such raw things if they have any other choice, because the stigma of vulnerable emotional expression, especially in a public forum, is harsh. Right? Who in their right mind does that?
Someone who was helped in the past because someone else shared – and someone who now knows how to swim and survive at those depths well enough that they can share how they did it.
Be careful not to underestimate those people – yourself included, if you’re one of them. Anything that can survive down there probably is tougher than it looks from above the surface. Even angler fish, with their light in the deep dark, have teeth.
May you always find a light in your depths,
A. Markov
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