In Malapascua, Philippines, I went on a deep ocean dive to see hammerhead sharks (we did not in fact see hammerhead sharks). It was the early hours of the morning, and the ocean was a deep blue filtering into turquoise in the subtle morning light. As I sank deeper – the blue darker, the sounds quieter, weightlessness enveloping me – I became keenly aware of the speckles in the soupy sea, lulled by the current and the rhythm of my audible breath in the respirator. I’ve never felt so calm. Maybe it was the onset of psychosis, but it felt like time and space were stretching. 

I come back to that feeling when I meditate – it does not come easy. It’s a feeling of the in-between. Between acute consciousness and mental stillness. Where breath settles into an imperceptible rhythm – like a stasis that I imagine is similar to life in utero. Where I am both nothing – a fleck in the vast universe – and everything all at once.

It’s a liminal space. 

I’ve always been drawn to the edges. Ironic, given my fear of heights. I mean figuratively, of course. I like to make sense of the moments when concepts fray into confusion. I like to turn soup into logic. To pull threads until it all unravels and then I reorganize the fabric into something more practical.

I like to think that this is a useful skill. Although, it often feels like a lonely space. The in-between.

When I’m engaged and using my brain in this way, I’m in the zone. My mind finds peace even as it restlessly tackles the problem ahead. A former boss once told me that I’m only truly satisfied when I have a sticky problem to untangle. When my brain is idle – no sticky problems – I become antsy. And then there’s the risk that I tumble off that edge to which I’m drawn, and down into the depths of overthinking. Those depths are not calming – my breath is unregulated, the sinking uncontrolled, and I push my dive buddy away. This is the truly lonely space.

And yet…

Perhaps that’s the answer – the difference between the gentle drift and the frantic – a dive buddy. Not someone who pulls you back from the edge, but someone who quietly drifts alongside in the deep blue, and knows when to offer a lifeline.