I dive because:

1. We’re more Water than Earth (the planet is misnamed ) and it would be a crime not to go-and-see for myself. And I’ve always understood that being a visitor demands all the courtesy due to the homeowners. The cautionary tale I heard as a student was of this diver whose body was fished out, whose death was a puzzle, until one of the rescuers found a textile cone shell in his pocket—such a tiny exotic souvenir, such a highly venomous mollusk residing within.

2. While whalesharks and manta rays are undisputed superstars, micro-life (with its constant plays on defense, offense, and interdependence) fascinates me as well. Shrimps that reside between the poison-tipped spines of urchins; vividly-colored nudibranchs that eat lethal sponges to ingest the toxins; the odd partnership between the blind goby shrimp (which cleans the burrow) and goby fish (which acts as “seeing eye”)…

3. Tethered by my reef hook or letting go, I enjoy riding the current like a kite.

4. I even like how the sea can choose to withhold, how we’re reduced to prayers and bargaining: Dear God, give us this day our manta, and we’ll be content and undemanding for the rest of the year.

5. I appreciate the built-in drama, how pressures and predators simply prompt unique adaptations (that I can surely take survivor lessons from ). During especially good dives, I feel "connected," when the so-called tapestry of life is a tangible thing. After all, I share these creatures’ needs for space, oxygen, nourishment, reproduction (er, maybe not the last one. I’ve always contended that my brother had already fulfilled our mother’s grandkids’ quota )