Why would anyone write about diving?

It seems such a clumsy activity, restricting our motion on the surface, our peripheral vision underwater, and exposing our bodies to perils we would not encounter on a leisure hike. All the hours of preparations for roughly an hour of immersion per tank. We haul a lot of gear, expensive gear to boot and we don’t mind acquiring more.

And that’s only prior to the dive. There’s the mandatory breakdown, careful rinsing, drying and maintenance to ensure the gear is ready for the next immersion. We cannot afford the luxury of dumping our gear aside after returning exhausted from a long excursion. Doing so would mean damage to our investment, or worse, malfunction that could endanger us. Why would anyone want to write about such type of activity?

Well, why not? There’s a magnetism that keeps divers returning from more, making them overlook the extensive preparations as a worthwhile investment of time in anticipation of experiencing freedom from the clutches of gravity yet again. We itch and daydream reliving the last immersion and fantasizing about the next one. It’s an obsession that occupies our minds and makes us look forward to the next time.

Yet amid this elation, there’s one aspect we–as members of society–cannot deny. As much as we love diving, it is but one small aspect in the full context of our lives. The bulk of our existence is occupied by earning a living, loving those to whom we dedicate our lives, and in dealing with the small intricacies of life.

Yes, the majority of our time is dedicated to just being a human, and that means we also have an undeniable dark side that cheats, lies, steals, and deceives in secrecy to secure and edge. We keep it concealed and fight it. Sometimes we overcome this nefarious aspect of our existence, sometimes we succumb to it. It’s the battle of life.

And that’s why The Diver came to existence. It celebrates our passion as divers and our humanity. It rejoices in how we find escape and freedom in the embrace of the water but it recognizes the tribulations on the surface that drives us to seek the thrill of aquatic exploration. It is this passion that creates memorable friendships with people we may have never met otherwise, people who get involved in our lives in ways we did not imagine, and whose lives unwillingly present to us in their vulnerability.

Though there are many colorful narratives of underwater exploration, The Diver is not a collection of near-death experiences or pushing the limits. There are a few books out there that do a superb job at it. Rather, it’s a book about how diving claims an unmovable spot in our souls, about friendships, relationships, and the powerful influence of one of our most primal drives. It is the aspect of a diver’s life that remains largely unmentioned, the one that shows not only our joys but also our weaknesses and tears.

I dedicate this book to all those with the strength to pursue their passions, to show that writing about diving is fun and spiritual. I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to hearing what you think.

Peace and Happiness,