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I was a self conscious child with a disproportionate need for adventure. It was kind of a curse really. I had all of the passion and imagination but none of the drive to make those things come to fruition. I wanted so much so badly but didn’t know how to get it. Around the age of 10, my mom and step-dad took my sister and I to Jamaica. I, ever so excitable, and my sister, ever the brooding curmudgeon, found ourselves on a small fishing boat on the choppy ocean. My step-dad insisted that THIS was the spot we were going to go snorkeling. The owner of the boat dived into the water, splitting the waves. My step-dad and mom weren’t too far behind him. I stood up, ready to jump - but couldn’t. What was stopping me? I could see them swimming beneath the surface of the crystal clear water. I spotted no aqueous beasts ready to attack, no tentacled creature prepared to drag me to a water-logged death. So what gave? Why couldn’t I just will my portly young body into the water? It wasn’t far away. Just inches below was crystal paradise. Frankly the rocking of the boat was making me more sick than any danger I could face in the ocean. “Come on, Graham! Just jump! It’s so much fun!” My step-dad submerged himself once more. My mom popped her head up and removed her snorkel. She didn’t say anything. She just flashed her smile, as white as the pearls in the clams below her. She treaded water. Watched. Waited. She was a vigilant, and insistent motivator. She knew words wouldn’t mean much to me. They don’t mean a lot to most people facing a crisis. She let me do it on my own time. That gave me all the gumption I needed. I bent my knees. I pushed upwards, as high as gravity would let a chubby kid fly. SPLASH. Had Lala Land been out around that time I would’ve made a comparison to Emma Stone’s final song in the film. But that’s an adult me’s gay fantasy, and besides it wasn’t out. I had to jump without any music. Just a rocking boat and a Jamaican man shaking a live lobster at me. It was the first time I had ever made a decision for myself and been applauded for it. Been celebrated. It felt amazing. Looking back on it now I think the best part was knowing that I made my parents proud. I made my sister crack a reluctant smile, made her admit that this vacation - this thing that dragged her away from her friends over the summer - was actually fun. Of course I think I can pin all of my needs for attention on this moment. Really the new problem that arose from this incident was the realization that I love and require an audience. But it was a realization I was allowed to come to on my own. I was autonomous. I was free. Free to succeed or fail, it didn’t matter. Maybe the wind could’ve gotten knocked out of me causing me to drown. Maybe the strongest seagull in existence could’ve snatched me midair and taken me far far away. But I decided in that moment to not care about the “maybes” or the “what if”s or the hypothetical monstrous seafaring birds. That leap into the unknown brought about more knowing than any other event in my life. If I don’t go back I suppose I could always just fill my bathtub up with Morton salt and splash around for a bit. But I would go back to that water in a heartbeat. I would do laps in that languid, lavish liquid again if only for just one more taste of briny revelation.