Tonilyn is a freelance writer
living in Los Angeles with her husband. Her work has been seen in "True
Story Magazine" as well as in the poetry journal "Nomad's Choir." For
more about Tonilyn' see her website at
www.tonilynhornung.com
There are some days that I’m
tired of being me. There are some days that I’m tired of making all the
same predictable choices. There are some days I want to step out of my
comfort zone and choose something that is the complete opposite of who I
know myself to be in hopes it will lead me to a new and exciting place.
This was one of those days...
My husband and I were vacationing with my family in Mexico where we had
been lounging by the beach doing what my family does on
vacation--nothing. My husband, David, was getting a bit antsy amidst all
the nothing and suggested that he and I take a fun day excursion. Fun
is David’s middle name, so the excursion that appealed to him most was a
wave runner/snorkeling day trip.
My preferred version of this trip would have been just the snorkeling. I
like safe, slow, take-it-at-your-own-pace kind of excursions. I’m by no
means an adrenaline junkie. I’ve never been one for speed.
My fate was sealed when I
rode my first ride at 8 years old. I had convinced my mom to go with me
on a carnival ride called the Octopus. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait
to exit the ride smiling triumphantly like all the other kids had done;
but much to my chagrin, I hated it. I spent the entire ride huddled at
my mother’s feet, eyes tightly closed, praying that it would soon be
over.
I was too embarrassed to
shout “STOP! I HATE THIS!!!” to the burly ride operator. Not only was I
certain he wouldn’t stop the ride, but worse than that, what if he did?
It would be my fault that everyone’s fun was stolen and disrupted. I
was trapped. That was the first time I remember feeling utterly
powerless --powerless to change my extreme hatred of the experience and
powerless to make the nightmarish fast spinning ride stop.
When an animated David asked me to participate in this speedy escapade,
my body was instantly filled with anxiety. My stomach decided to take a
leave of absence and a scarier empty airy feeling took it’s place. The
fear of repeating my “Octopus Experience” was reason enough for me to
tell my husband “No.” That would have been my normal response; but there
really are days I’m sick to death of making all the same predictable
choices. I paused...
What if I had outgrown my fear? What if I was missing out on a truly fun
experience? I now began to see this excursion as an opportunity -- an
opportunity to face a childhood fear. That excited me. I might discover
something new about myself. I might emerge from this experience a
slightly better version of me--a less fearful version. I knew while
riding that wave runner, the fear would come. I wanted to be
re-introduced to my childhood horror, so that as an adult I could
conquer it. I would be free. The possibility of that conquest gave me
the courage to take a deep breath, give my husband a smile, and say
“Yes.”
When I first saw the wave runners bobbing calmly on the ocean, I thought
they looked like motorcycles--motorcycles made for water. That empty
airy feeling where my stomach should be came back to visit. The phrase,
0You’re going to be fine...” droned over and over in my head. If I said
it enough maybe I would believe it.
I took a steadying breath and climbed aboard our wave runner built for
two. David started the engine. I could smell the exhaust as we drove off
taking our place behind the others in our group. I felt the hot air
become a little cooler against my bare arms and I looked down to see the
ocean moving quickly under us. I was surprised. I was enjoying this!
This was fun! Holding onto David’s back as he drove, I was already
happily day-dreaming about the conversation I would have with my parents
over dinner. I couldn’t wait to tell them how great our day had been. My
choice had paid off. I had undoubtedly vanquished that childhood fear
and stepped into the ease and freedom of adulthood. I felt empowered.
Lost in my reverie, I was jarred back into existence when I felt the
wave runner kick into high gear. We were too far behind our group. We
had to catch up. The wind hurt. The ocean was blurred. My arms shook. I
couldn’t hold on tight enough for all the bumping. That’s when it
happened. The fear. The extreme hatred. The powerlessness. I’ve never
been so scared in all my life. People use that phrase in everyday
conversation to emphasize a point, but this is not for that
reason. Truly, I’ve never been so scared. I wanted to disappear. The
feeling in my stomach was pure terror as our wave runner raced ahead
crashing through the massive ocean waves. I tried to reason with the
terror, I tried breathing through the terror, but there was no
escape. My terror had long talons that pierced and dug deep and wouldn’t
let go.
“I think I have to get off this.” I told my husband in his ear.
“Really?!”
“Really,” I was now certain. “Right now...I can’t do it..”
“I don’t know what you want me to do...”
In that moment I made a decision. It was abundantly clear that I MUST
get off this horrific thing. I knew myself well enough to know I
couldn’t continue. With every passing moment my terror increased. The
last thing I wanted to do was confess this to our unsympathetic tour
guide and never did I want to disrupt the group’s fun. But one feeling
eclipsed all those others--fear. I simply couldn’t take any more. My
fear may have bested me, but I realized I could be free from the fear.
“FLAG DOWN THE GUIDE AND
TELL HIM I HATE THIS! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY!” I screamed over the
hollering of the motor.
David cut the engine and waved his arms for our guide to see. Our
leathery-faced guide circled back and asked us what the problem
was. “This is making my wife sick. She has to get off.” David told him.
The guide looked at me dumbfounded. I was 8 years old again. But this
time I was not entirely powerless. This time I had the burly ride
operator’s attention, and humiliated or not, I was going to make him
stop the ride for me. This was one ride I was getting off.
Bluntly I said, “I really hate this. I have to go back.” There was
nothing left to be said. Our guide, with the whole wave runner group in
tow, took me back to the resort.
Making the opposite choice that day did lead me to a new and exciting
place. The power I so eagerly sought didn’t lie in the outcome, but in
the attempt. It was my voice that came to my rescue that day. In
finding my voice I had finally found my true power.
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