40m is big to me.

40m is about as high as the Sydney Harbour Bridge sits off the water. It takes two seconds for a skydiver to cover that distance falling out of a plane. It’s almost as deep as the Niagara Falls is high.

After I booked the trip to the Philippines and left my job, my marriage ended. It was unexpected - I can be like a guard dog whose jaw locks on despite the blows, committed to a purpose even when commitment stops being sane. I have fighter energy. I've just rarely used it to fight for myself.

And 40m would, if nothing else, be a fight for myself. 40m is the depth I need to be able to consistently reach to become a freediving instructor, something which I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt is what I want to do. Freediving has given me so much, and I want to hold the door open for other disabled people, and also leaders who want to find the kind of purpose and clarity that emerges at depth.

To freedive well you need to let go of the past and the future and soften fully into the present moment.

But the duality is that freedivers often also want a number.

And after a season of loss and saying goodbye, this number had taken on heavy significance for me. While I daily meditated on letting go of attachment to outcome, 40m felt like it woul be showing up for myself in a way I never had, and could maybe make everything worth it.

Maybe make me worth it.

Yeah, I was getting too attached, and with two dives left I knew that I was unlikely to make it past the thermocline, the sudden temperature drop that was often around 36m deep. And you can’t force depth - lung squeezes, ear drum ruptures, blackouts and seizures are not to be trifled with.

Through the weeks of training, I had begun to recognise that there was a loss of trust in myself that was a barrier. How could I trust myself to equalize softly and naturally at 40m? How could I relax and let go under the most pressure my body had ever experienced?

In another strange duality, to fight for myself I was going to need to stop fighting. I was going to need to believe in and trust my mind and body.
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Linde, a lovely Belgian diver, takes my group for this penultimate dive. She decides I won’t look at the number today - she will set the depth and all I’ll do is enjoy the dives.
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The preparation to dive is perhaps more important than the dive. It’s called the breathe up and it’s a form of intense meditation. Mine is layered with learnings from people and experiences - I float on the waters surface, visualising the colour purple flowing through me, letting go of everything I don’t need, and telling myself I am safe. It is a way of talking to myself that is kind and soft but still believing I can do hard things.

Impossible things.

When I dive, I think maybe I’m diving to 38m - a new record for me.

The dive is my fourth of the day and blissful and I take my time pulling myself down and then back up, savouring it. When I come up I’m elated, but Linde points at the line and the four lines on it sitting just below the surface, where I couldn’t see them before the dive. I don’t understand. But she says it again and again until I process it - 40m.

I climb onto the float and think of my friend Sofie, who told me a few days before, when I was having sad day, that if she saw someone crying after a dive she would feel jealous of their ability to express emotions.

I let myself cry. It feels so wonderful.

I realise I’ve let go of something heavy. It’s at the bottom of the ocean now. Linde hugs me and we celebrate and I joke to her “Now I’m enough” and she smacks me in the arm.

In a few days I’ll fly home and start to explore how I can share all of this with others. Thank you for being here on the journey with me.

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