The Deepwater Difficulty

Written By Andy Scoles

I learned how to swim at my local YMCA during some of the summers of my early elementary school years. They taught me the basics, like how to make a simple stroke, how to float, and how to tread water. Once I learned these basics, I pretty much taught myself.

In the shallow end. Where my feet could easily touch the bottom of the pool. Because I was scared of deep water and didn’t want to admit it.

Fast-forward to my first summer at Boy Scout summer camp, the summer before I entered sixth grade.

Part of each boy’s introductory activities for the week included an optional swimming test at the camp’s lake, which had a dock that stretched out beyond the shallows. The test involved jumping feet-first into the lake from the dock into the deep water and swimming the length of the dock and back. If you passed the test, you got access to the lake, with “free swim” available every evening and a wooden “island” platform in the middle of the lake that every swimmer could swim to and dive from.

I was scared. I’d never really tried jumping into water that was deep enough to not be able to feel the bottom; I always eased myself in and hung onto something. And the worst part was, this wasn’t a teaching moment; it was a “test”. I could pass or fail.

I failed. When I jumped in, the shock of the cold water enveloping me as I sank into it sent my fear into overdrive. I floundered my way back to the surface and immediately reached up to have someone help me out.

I opted out of the test the next few summers.

Fast-forward again a few years. If I recall correctly, it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school. I had already gone through that year’s Boy Scout summer camp without swimming. But my church youth group went on an end-of-summer, celebratory trip to a nearby lake. I was, obviously, planning to swim in the shallows.

But this lake also had a wooden platform further out that had a slide on it, and I wished I had the ability to get there. Every kid on the platform looked like they were having so much fun diving, sliding, cannonballing, and somersaulting off it into the water.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but one of the dads from the church who had volunteered to come on the trip to help with activities found out I didn’t like deep water. So that evening, he made it his personal mission to get me out of my funk.

“Deep water isn’t that scary,” he told me. “You just have to know how to tread water, and have confidence that you won’t sink.”

Easier said than done, I thought. I was scared of going under and drowning, and no one had ever really pushed me to overcome that fear.

Then he said something that changed the game: “I’ll help you. I won’t let you sink. Let’s swim to the platform together.”

He pinpointed the heart of the issue I hadn’t realized was there. I wasn’t afraid of drowning, per se. I was afraid of sinking without having someone (who wasn’t a lifeguard) to pull me back up. I was afraid of having to overcome my fear on my own.

So, despite my heart pounding in my chest and unconfident thoughts invisibly sapping the strength from my arms and legs, I began to follow this kind man from the shallow end out into the deep. I was slow. I was still a small kid who didn’t have much in the way of bodily strength. I know this man knew that, but he didn’t let my weakness be an excuse.

I swam. And swam. Every second felt like an eternity as I kept up with the man who was helping me. The brown lake water lapped around my body. I tried hard not to think about the fact that I definitely couldn’t touch the bottom of the lake now.

Finally, we both reached the island. I treaded water for a moment before pulling myself up onto the wood-plank platform. The man was there to help me, and he congratulated me on getting this far.

Then came the next challenge: jumping into the water again in order to surface and float while treading water. He went first, then beckoned me to follow. I’d made it this far, so I figured, why not take one more step? I hesitated, then jumped.

The feeling of being fully immersed in deepwater was as scary as ever. But my natural buoyancy lifted me, and I surfaced to tread water. My helper was right there next to me with a smile that said, “See? You can do this!”

At that moment, I felt like a mental chain snapped. He was right.

I spent the rest of that evening jumping from that platform and swimming back to it, reveling in my newfound confidence and ability.

The next summer at Boy Scout camp, I “aced” the swimming test and went swimming in the deepwater every opportunity I had (except for the morning polar bear swim they offered—I wasn’t that enthusiastic).

It's hard to quantify the value of someone believing in you when you don’t believe in yourself. In fact, this type of experience is basically priceless.

A lot more people than you might think are scared to take “deepwater” opportunities. They fear judgment and rejection if they show weakness. They fear the consequences of owning up to mistakes or digging up the pain of past hurt. They fear unkindly attitudes that mock them while they sit in the mud. Or worse, they fear being isolated in their difficult time.

No one should have to face hard things alone.

This kindly man at my youth group event helped me overcome my fear, and I pay that effort forward whenever I can. There’s nothing quite like watching someone swim into deep water and realize they can float.

Andy Scoles
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Dragon Sickness