jumping into the deep end / #20

on turning catastrophizing into excitement

“Diving!” — it says in my calendar, like an enthusiastic and small dare I made to myself.

One day out from getting in the water, and I’m caught between excitement and my brain's favorite hobby: catastrophizing.

I'm watching myself do exactly what I said I wouldn't anymore.

In April, I wrote about how fear had been designing my life — how I'd spent years staring at my feet, optimizing for not falling instead of actually seeing where I was going.

I thought recognizing the pattern would be enough to change it.

Predictably, old systems die hard.

This diving thing started innocently enough. A friend said he wanted to learn, a year and a half ago.

I, having just conquered my fear of skiing, thought maybe I could try conquering this too, said yes.

I was mostly saying yes to the idea of learning. To seeing if I could shift something from the “probably not me” bucket to the “...maybe?” one.

Because if I can ski now — me, a deeply land-based mammal — then maybe I could try this too.

The thing is, I want this.

I want to know what it feels like to breathe underwater, to float in that weird quiet space. My cousin described diving as “touring the oceans”, and wow—

—I want that. The promise of serenity and beauty, all rolled into one.

But my brain has decided that the week before is perfect for its favorite pastime. Recent search/Claude history includes:

• diving decapitations when ascending

• do i have to backward roll into the ocean

• at what depth does nitrogen narcosis happen

• what if i accidentally forget to breathe and my lungs explode

I know what I'm doing: I'm researching my way into paralysis.

Then there's this question in the medical questionnaire:

I struggle to perform moderate exercise (for example, walk 1.6 kilometer/one mile in 14 minutes)

Can I do 1.6 kilometer in under 14 minutes?

Technically, yes. I have photo evidence that I did, in about 12:35.

But did I struggle?

Yeah, I Struggled; capital s for emphasis. (Feels like it could be the title of my memoir, too.)

This is me being pedantic and using humor to cope — which is just anxiety, dressed up as diligence, and wondering if anyone notices.

Here's what I've noticed: when I really want something, my brain gets louder.

The more I care, the more elaborate the disaster scenarios become, as if wanting something is in itself dangerous.

But what if I tried something different this time?

Instead of feeding the catastrophe, I’ll feed the excitement.

what if my lungs explode?
→ I’ll get to feel what it’s like to breathe underwater for the first time — and trust myself to do it.

what if i’m not brave enough?
→ I’ll have stories from my first dive trip, and not regrets about never trying.

what if this isn’t for me and i’ll be a failure?
→ Then becoming a diver will be a proven experiment that I wasn’t “made for”.

This shows up in other parts of my life too.

Like with writing and the full stack:

what if no one cares?
→ I’m already building something that I want to use on myself every day.

what if it never works out?
→ I’ll have turned my mess into a method — and that clarity is already worth it.

what if I’m not made for this?
→ Then becoming the kind of person who is made for this will be the story I tell.

Every time I feed the possibility, the fear gets a little quieter.

Not gone, but not in charge anymore.

The excited part of my brain is already getting ahead of itself, and I'm letting it.

I’m planning future adventures like I’m already someone who does this.

It reminds me of a driving instructor I had, after I told him about my nerves. He told me something that stuck: you are a driver, all you need is just the license to say that you are.

This is what hope looks like: getting ahead of myself, and designing for possibility instead of protection.

Will I be nervous when I get in the water? A hundred percent; absolutely.

Will I mess up during the lessons? I hope not, but I know I will.

Will I mistake perfectly safe moments for mortal peril? Yep, for sure.

But I’m going to be there anyway, staying present, and seeing what’s awaiting on the other side of fear — to become someone who doesn’t just avoid the deep end, but learns to move in it.

Other things

• 🥳 By Design is 20 issues (and 6 months) old! That’s on staying consistent, and enjoying the process at the same time.

• I couldn’t have timed my 8-week running plan better if I’d tried: did a proper 5k for the first time in my life! I’m excited to keep pushing the distance.

  

Until next time,
Jalyn