I jumped into the open ocean off Isla Mujeres with yellow fins and zero experience. What happened next shaped the rest of my life.
I didn't know what I was doing. That's the honest version.
I was in Isla Mujeres, Mexico. One of the first countries I'd ever traveled to. I was sober, alone, surrounded by people I didn't know, about to jump into the open ocean with one of the largest animals on the planet.
I had a pair of yellow fins. No dive certification yet. No idea what a whale shark encounter would actually feel like. Just a gut feeling that I needed to do this, and a quiet voice underneath the fear saying, go.
So I went.
The Moment Everything Shifted
When you slip off the side of a boat into open water, there's a split second where the world drops away. No ground beneath you. No walls around you. Just blue in every direction and the awareness that you are very, very small.
And then the whale shark appeared.
I wasn't deep on a breath hold. I was at the surface, kicking sideways, trying to keep pace with something the size of a school bus moving through the water like it had nowhere to be and all the time in the world. My arm was outstretched, not to touch it, just because my whole body was trying to take in what my brain couldn't quite process.
That moment rewired something in me. Not dramatically, not like a movie. More like a door opening that I didn't know was there. A door that said: there is more available to you than the life you've been living.
Faith Is Greater Than Fear
I think a lot about what it takes to step into the unknown. Especially sober. When you're drinking, you can manufacture courage. You can numb the edges of fear enough to convince yourself you're brave. But you're not present for any of it. You're just medicated enough to not care.
Sober, you feel everything. The nervousness on the boat. The weight of being alone in a foreign country. The vulnerability of not knowing a single person around you. And then you jump anyway.
That's what faith looks like. Not religious faith, necessarily. Just faith that something is possible. Faith that what's on the other side of fear might be worth the discomfort of walking through it. Faith in the process, even when you can't see where it leads.
For me, it led to everything.
That one jump in Isla Mujeres, with my silly yellow fins and zero experience, launched a life I never could have imagined. Tiger sharks in the Maldives. Galapagos sharks in Hawaii. Blue whales in Timor-Leste. Humpbacks in Tonga and Tahiti. 350+ dives and counting. Encounters with people like Ocean Ramsey and Juan Oliphant of One Ocean Diving, who are doing extraordinary work in ocean conservation and shark research. None of that happens without Mexico.
None of it happens without that first leap.
Respect the Animal. Respect the Ocean.
I need to say something about this, because it matters.
When I was in Isla Mujeres, it was years ago. Before it became what it is now, which is, frankly, a circus. Boats stacked on top of each other, people grabbing at animals, operators cutting corners to get the best shot. That's not what this should be.
If you're going to swim with whale sharks, or any wildlife, do it right. Choose operators who follow regulations. Don't touch the animal. Don't chase the animal. Keep your distance and let the encounter happen on their terms, not yours.
My photo looks like I'm reaching for the shark. I'm not. I'm kicking sideways, arms out for balance, still a solid distance away. The camera angle just makes it look closer. But even if I could have touched it, I wouldn't have. That's not what this is about.
Ecotourism matters. The way we interact with these animals shapes whether future generations get to experience them at all. If your provider doesn't have clear rules about distance, contact, and group size, find a different provider.
I don't mean to sound preachy or holier than thou. But we are guests in their world, and we need to act like it. Ultimately, it's about spreading the message of sustainability so that these animals aren't negatively impacted and we can continue to share these experiences with as many people as possible.
Stagnant Water Breeds Mosquitoes
There's a phrase I come back to a lot: stagnant water breeds mosquitoes.
If we aren't pushing ourselves, we stagnate. And stagnation doesn't just feel uncomfortable. It breeds dis-ease. Literally, a lack of ease within the body. The more we move, the more we challenge ourselves, the more we grow. Self-esteem isn't built by thinking positive thoughts. It's built by doing esteemable things. By doing the next right thing, even when it scares you.
That doesn't mean throwing yourself into the most dangerous situation possible. Respect appropriate fear. Push your edges, not your limits. There's a difference between growth and recklessness, and the line matters.
But if you're sitting in the same place you were a year ago, doing the same things, numbing the same feelings, and wondering why nothing changes, I'd gently suggest that the thing you're avoiding might be exactly the thing you need to move toward.
What's on the Other Side
I can't tell you what your whale shark is. Maybe it's a trip. Maybe it's a conversation. Maybe it's putting down the drink and seeing what's actually there when the noise stops.
What I can tell you is that when we step into the unknown, when we choose faith over fear, the things waiting on the other side are some of the most magical experiences available in this life. Not because they're easy. Because they're real.
That kid in yellow fins who jumped off a boat in Mexico didn't know he was building a life. He just knew he couldn't stay on the boat.
Sometimes that's enough.
If you want to go deeper on the identity piece, what happens when we stop running and start choosing who we actually want to be, I write about that at zacspowart.com. And if you're curious about what sober travel can actually look like, that's the work I do at Nomadic Addictt.

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