I feel like I am standing with my toes at the edge of the deepest pool, staring down into the crystal clear water at my awaited prize lying at the bottom. For eighteen years I have stared at this prize, occasionally dipping my toes into the water but never fully getting in. I know that the prize at the bottom is worth the work, but the thought of me actually jumping in is enough to take my breath away on dry land. I thought I had everything it takes to take the plunge but that is only until I am pushed in and I realize that I can’t swim. I am struggling for air, slipping beneath the surface. Flailing limbs and yelling as loud as I can underwater in an attempt to save myself from what could be the down-fall of me. My eyes flutter open under the water and I see the pool is now filled with floaties, bogie boards, life jackets, and pool noodles all on the surface. I reach up, grasping to one and pulling my head up. I apply the jacket, wrap my legs around the noodle, and slip the children floaties on my arms. I gradually practice treading the water, circling right above my prize. Sometimes I slip my head under the water and open my eyes, looking down at it. It is still there. Still calling for me to dive and get it. But I am not ready yet. Or am I? I pull my head out, pushing the noodle away from me. Slipping the floaties off my arms. Unbuckling the safety jacket. Gently, I push away from the edge of the pool, treading carefully. I suck in a breath, plunging under