Fear and Hubris
On Almost Killing Myself by Accident
A holiday beach put me in my place.
You don’t get many opportunities to wonder if this is the end, but drowning is one of them. This is a story about water, but also about hubris.
I like the water. I grew up playing in the ocean each summer. Dad would rent the family a little bungalow by the ocean for two weeks in August. It wasn’t fancy, but mellow in a way we all appreciated, as did the mice and lines of picnic ants who helpfully pointed to our snack food.
Many summers, extended family would rent nearby, too. While chasing older, bolder cousins, I’d sometimes enter rough surf, which intimidated me, and undertows would pull my feet from the sand. I’d fight to stay in contact with the bottom, and when I lost this battle, I trusted the others were watching me. And they always were.
Closer to shore, I might get rolled hard, curled under by a wave and held on the bottom longer than I’d liked. But in the end, I’d walk out with my cousins, a grin, and the type of fatigue that only serves to energize the young.
While living in California, my wife and I had a lovely conversation with an older couple at a BBQ. They were from New Zealand and were in Los Angeles on a trip to visit their son. They were out of their…
