Fear, Failure, and the Freediver’s Light

Recently, I was at a concert where the artist paused to share something raw. She talked about how close she came to quitting, how failure nearly won just before everything broke open.

I hear this a lot from people. I’ve watched it happen more times than I can count, friends shrinking at the edge of their goals, hearts full but tethered by the weight of what-ifs. And if I’m honest, I still do it myself. The excuses start quietly. They even sound reasonable.
What if I’m not ready? What if I fail? What if I can’t handle the outcome?

But here’s what I’ve come to learn, both above and below the surface:

Our minds are designed to protect us. Sometimes that protection looks like quitting early. Like convincing ourselves we never wanted the thing in the first place. Like wrapping fear in logic and calling it caution.
But underneath it all is a quiet truth: we’re afraid of what might happen if we try and fall short.

There’s something else that holds us back, too. Something quieter than fear.
The ego doesn’t just protect us from failure. It protects us from being seen trying. From not having it all together. From risking the things that matter most.
It tells us not to reach too far, not to care too much, not to show up unless we’re sure we’ll win.
But growth doesn’t happen in control. It happens in the stretch.
And ego, while it tries to keep us safe, will gladly keep us small to do it.

But what if failure isn’t the enemy?

If you knew you were just ten failures away from your goal, would you still hesitate or would you chase them down one by one, knowing every stumble brings you closer?

That mindset shift has changed everything for me. It’s the difference I’ve seen between the people who quietly let go of their dreams and the ones who keep walking, bruises and all, toward something greater. Not because they’re fearless, but because they’ve stopped letting fear steer the ship.

In freediving, fear is not a stranger. You meet it in the hold, in the silence, in the rising urge to breathe. But instead of running, you learn to make space for it. You slow down, stay present, and invite it to the table. You say, “I see you. But you’re not in charge.”

The deeper truth? Courage doesn’t roar. It whispers, keep going, again and again.

And when you do, when you stop dimming yourself out of habit or fear or the need to play small for someone else’s comfort, something shifts. As Marianne Williamson wrote:

“As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

That’s what I want. For myself. For the people I care about. For anyone standing on the edge of a dream, wondering if they’re allowed to leap.

Let this be your permission slip.
Fall as many times as you need to. But don’t stay stuck in fear just because it feels familiar.
The surface will always call you back, but sometimes the truth is waiting in the deep.

You don’t have to be fearless.
You just have to keep going.

That’s true in all things: in love, in work, in risking yourself for the dream.
The one you’re not sure you’re ready for.
The relationship that scares you, not because it hurts, but because it matters.
The idea that keeps tugging at your chest, refusing to let go.

Every leap begins with the same quiet question:

Por qué no? Why not you? Why not now?

You don’t need certainty. You just need the courage to move.
Even if your voice shakes. Even if you fall.
Because the surface will always feel safer, but some truths can only be found in the deep.