Fear has kept me alive. This is a notion I have had to learn more than once, a fact that has, on occasion, nearly reduced me to tears of vexation. I refer to those episodes known to and experienced by everyone, in which even the most mundane aspects of life seem to go out of their way to be caught underfoot and strike you in the places that will cause the most pain with the least effort. God, Fate, or whatever one wishes to blame, has always appreciated the term, “More bang for your buck.” Another term they have learned well is “tharn”, a word that I personally first encountered in reading Richard Adam’s novel Watership Down. It describes the paralyzed state of rabbits when they encounter something so terrible that they simply cannot move, even to flee. It is this paralyzing nature of fear, of threats that can reduce you to trembling frustration, that has aided me the most.
           

For, as they say of experience, fear is an excellent teacher, as it inspires me to learn. I did not know that water was dangerous, for example. Well, of course I knew, in an abstract sense; it had been said to me. There were things that I did know then. I knew the sand giving way beneath my feet, shifting left and right and making me laugh as I stumbled. I knew the tide that brought the water in, churning the sand, tugging at my bare, chilly ankles to take the water out again. I knew the scent of the air over me and around me, caught in a brisk breeze; not the “salt sea” smell so often cited, but like fresh clams and oysters- they did not smell fishy but you knew they were fresh from the ocean- I do not deny it is a vague sort of thing. It was simply the sea.
           

I did not know the danger in the water, tide, and sand. A step to far, wading just a little too deep, and with an innocent fleck of creamy foam flying into my mouth, I was nearly undone. Happiness ceased. I suddenly noticed the overcast sky. Perturbed, I tried to cough, feeling the salty gristle gurgling in my windpipe, looking away from the sea as all attention was focused on dislodging it. I was unprepared, then underwater, as the next wave lifted my small body away like my little driftwood boats, spinning crazily in the sun’s glare. For a lifetime I stared, wide-eyed; the sea was a maelstrom, sand and shell rushing along the bottom with me like a flock of birds moving as one, the crest of the wave shoving my head down like an overzealous teacher, as I skipped powerless along the floor of the ocean. It was absurd, I thought, as I looked about, seeing no sky or friendly face; only green, rushing water, omnipotent, cold, and implacable.
           

It was then that terror took hold of me. It was not a process. It simply existed in me, overwhelming. My abortive scream turned into a whimper and then a pathetic parade of bubbles from my nose that I felt catch in and tickle my eyelashes. I thrashed, feeling my palms scoop great fistfuls of frigid green water, at once reassured at my own strength and despairing as I saw how little progress I made. Again the insurmountable dominance of the ocean pressed down on my young mind. For the first time despair unto death tempted me. The though of giving up and simply feeling myself sink down brushed my cheek and whispered through the muted water. Then I looked down and saw the sand dollar. It was a hideous thing and unbelievably ugly to me at the moment. Yet, in the insane manner of a child, I inspected it. The thing rushed along next to me, its flailing legs struggling desperately for purchase in the eternal cloud of sand and bubbles. In that moment, I felt I had a friend, a companion with which I shared this horrible experience. The ridiculousness of this notion struck me instantly. My fear vanished just long enough for me to calm myself and search for the surface. My hands clawed water. My feet kicked- something cut them- then I breathed.
           

Lunging for shore, I collapsed backwards onto the cool sand, as the froth lapped gently, innocently at my calves. It begged, pleaded with me to return. Gulping the oyster air, I turned my head and saw my family chatting among themselves, tapping soda cans and unwrapping sandwiches. The smell of mesquite rolled over me and was gone just as quickly. They had not noticed my disappearance- I realized that I had only been gone for perhaps thirty seconds, perhaps a minute. Just enough time to escape the clutches of death. Enough time to look, fear, and laugh. Enough time to learn.

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