There is a paradox to being 20 metres under the ocean. It is a place of calm and wonderment. I am immersed in a foreign world, with a new watery sky above me. There is a sense of serenity, blissful peace as countless colourful fish glide past.
Only the tranquillity is deceiving. As a novice diver, my mind ticks over in hyperdrive. All that stands between me and an agonising fate is the tank of oxygen on my back (and, hopefully, the dive guide’s spare air).
There are suddenly a hundred things to remember. A library of complex hand signals, from those that communicate an animal sighting (lionfish – interlocked hands with fingers wiggling) to the essential (out of air – hand moving rapidly across the neck). My dive time and depth, critical to staying within the no-decompression limit, to avoid the risk of life-threatening decompression sickness. The location of my buddy; and, if they stray too far, a stern signal reminder to stay close – both index fingers bumped together.
Hence the paradox: scuba diving is at once liberating and serene, and a challenging comprehension test. Funnily enough, the latter makes the former all the more enjoyable.
Two years ago I decided to learn to scuba dive. There was talk of a family holiday to a renowned diving spot in Indonesia; I figured that was my cue to take up a new hobby.
Diving has opened my eyes to a new world. Turtles, sharks, manta rays, nudibranchs, fish of every variety. Vibrant coral and rocky caves. Ever since dipping my toe into diving at my local suburban pool, the necessary first step to getting a diving licence, I have been hooked. I am well on my way to 50 dives.
But a surprise highlight of learning to dive has been the learning part.
When was the last time you learned a new skill? A truly new pursuit, not just an extension of your day-to-day?
In our work-oriented society, with its premium on specialisation, there is plenty of derivative learning. As a lawyer, I am legally required to spend at least 10 hours a year undertaking continuing education. One of the pleasures of writing is learning about new topics – a licence to be curious, from echidna poo to the difficulties of cycling in Antarctica. But these activities all remain within the same domain. The learning is iterative rather than transformative.
During childhood, we are constantly learning. As we come into adulthood, further education – whether academic or technical – continues to expand our horizons. But then, usually, the learning slows. As we grow older, with busy lives and busy careers, it’s rare we try something truly novel.
Diving awakened me to the joy of learning new skills in adulthood.
The activity is both exhilarating and has just enough of a hint of danger to focus the mind; a pressurised environment in which to go back to school, grapple with something totally unfamiliar, and immerse yourself in the underwater world. It was also a means of forcing me offline; there is no way to check emails 30 metres below the surface.
After each dive, both the body and the mind feel that they have been put through their paces. There is an elation, a feeling of satisfaction. With more dives, the thinking required, the mental exertion, eases – but it never goes away.
And there is always more to learn. An advanced diving certificate permits dives to a depth of 40 metres, while learning to dive with enriched air, nitrox, allows you to stay under for longer and limits the fatigue on the body. New dive sites also bring their own challenges. I will never forget my first dive with a strong current; our dive guide forced to deploy a reef hook as we clung on for dear life.
Of course it is an immense privilege to have the time and money to take up new pursuits. Learning to dive is not exactly cheap. But there are significant health benefits to trying new things – whatever the activity. One study found that as people aged, those with hobbies had better health, more happiness and higher life satisfaction. That’s all the persuading I need.
So at this time of reflection and resolutions for the year ahead, consider trying something new – truly new. There is a magical quality to being a beginner again, learning slowly, seeing improvements first-hand, occasionally regressing and sometimes progressing. And if you can do all that 20 metres under the sea, surrounded by inquisitive turtles and friendly manta rays, all the better.
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Kieran Pender is an Australian writer, lawyer and academic. He has covered the Olympics, the Women’s World Cup and the Men’s World Cup for Guardian Australia
