Blue Dive
/By Tiffany Duong, produced by Out There Podcast
Released On July 28, 2022
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
(Sound of breeze)
WILLOW BELDEN (tape): Alright, so I am out for a hike. And it’s a beautiful, sunny day. Gentle breeze. It’s been a really tough week/month/year for me. So it’s a gift to have days like this, where I make time to go out and spend some quiet time in nature.
WILLOW (narration): One of the things I like to do when I’m out in nature is look at maps. I love to see where I am, what I’m looking at, what’s nearby.
But often — like on this day — my map only shows the immediate vicinity. I can see all these mountains off in the distance, but I don’t know what they are.
This is where an app called PeakVisor comes in handy. PeakVisor is one of our sponsors. Their app figures out where you are, and then it tells you all the mountains you’re looking at.
If you’re a map geek like me, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There Theme music plays - guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
As the world reopens, many of us are returning to the things we used to love. Things we did before the pandemic. We’re traveling, we’re seeing loved ones, we’re going on adventures.
And every adventure is better with a great soundtrack.
Our current season is called Nature’s Nostalgia. Each episode, we’re sharing award-winning narratives and beloved fan favorites from the early days of Out There. These stories are the perfect thing to fuel your summer adventures, and they just might give you the inspiration you need to lead a more fulfilling life.
But before we get to today’s story, I have a favor to ask.
(Theme music ends)
It takes a lot of time and money to produce the intricate narratives you hear on Out There. And because we are an independent podcast, we don’t have financial support from a network or radio station.
So — if Out There brightens your day at all, consider becoming a patron. Patrons are listeners who make monthly contributions to Out There through a crowd-funding platform called Patreon.
You can give as much or as little as you want. Most people do five or ten dollars a month. Of course, if you have the means to make larger gifts, we are extremely grateful for that. But every dollar really does help.
To become a patron today, go to patreon.com/outtherepodcast or just click the link in the episode description.
Thank you so much!
(Music plays - rambling guitar)
WILLOW: So, what happens when you’re successful — but not happy?
Today’s story comes to us from one of the Out There ambassadors. A while back, she had been “living the life.” She’d finished law school, she worked for a big law firm in LA, and she traveled as much as she could. But despite the glamorous life, she was miserable. And she didn’t know what to do about it. And then she went on an impromptu trip to the Galapagos. And everything changed.
I’ll let Tiffany Duong take it from here. And just so you know, there’s some adult language in this episode.
(Guitar fades out)
TIFFANY DUONG: “Okay. Okay. Breathe.” Almost angry, I urged myself on. “You can do this,” I told myself. “You WANT to do this. You NEED to do this.”
(Music plays - tonal, spacy)
My brow furrowed, and my throat felt dry from the anticipation. “C’mon, Tiff. It’s today, or… never?” I shook my head and sighed out loud at the same time, not sure if I wanted to cry or scream or just hide under my desk.
I looked outside my office window for distraction, stability. The skyscrapers of downtown LA were the same as they’d always been – gray, tall, looming. I imagined all the corporate suits and finance people in them, working all hours of the day in their fluorescent yellow offices, just like me.
(Music ends)
“Okay, Tiff. Focus.” Why was this so hard? I’d already decided to quit my job, last month in the Galapagos. God, to be back there again, on the boat, carefree, instead of here, freaking out and trying to find the courage and resoluteness I had there.
“TIFF! C’mon!” I begged myself. If I really wanted to quit my job, which I desperately did, it had to be within the next four hours. Tomorrow, my boss came back from vacation. He was bossy – bordering bullying – and I knew I didn’t have enough courage to stand my ground against him and quit tomorrow. So it was today, or never.
Never - the idea of it made me wince. But the devil’s advocate in my head prodded, “Do you really have to quit? Are you really going to do this? Are you crazy?!” Maybe… maybe, I should just… get back to work?
I shook my head, “no.” Not today. Instead, I went to my computer and opened up Spotify: Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.” The last few days, as I’d settled on doing that “crazy” thing and quitting my job without a next step, this cheesy anthem had saved me. “This is my fight song; Take back my life song; Prove I’m alright song.” I let the cheerleader-positive lyrics flood out all the “what if’s” that had begun to stir up clouds of doubt within me.
(Music fades in - tonal, choral, divine)
“Okay. This is really happening.” For the first time ever, I felt my resolve dig its heels into the carpet of my office and push back. “Never” was no longer an option.
(Music fades out)
To understand how I ended up here, let’s rewind half a year. I was, of course, in that same office, working yet another late night. It’d been a crappy quarter full of these all-nighters alone in my cold office, and I’d needed a vacation, badly.
I was a midlevel associate at a top law firm. What that means, in practical terms, is that I’d learned to suffer, well. I could execute perfection in minute details to make someone else’s dreams come true. I’d work sometimes 18 hours a day, without meals, sleep, or seeing the sun, to close deals and to make a ton of money, for other people.
I’d learned to feel good and justified in accepting a big paycheck for working so much. People – my friends, family, and even me, myself – told me it was a great job that everyone wanted: “Think about the pay! And security! All the cutting edge stuff you’re working on! Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
And so, I kept going, for six years. Every morning, it was a fight to get up, get dressed, and get to work. The reward for finishing an assignment early was more work. It felt endless, toxic, stagnant. To trick myself into working so much, I had to numb myself from the reality that I didn’t even know myself anymore.
(Music begins - calming piano)
When my mind would wander, I’d imagine my soul, my inner essence, as a translucent, milky stone. And, every day, just to get through that day’s mundane and/or insane shitstorms, I’d then imagine taking a chisel and chipping off bits of my precious soul stone.
This was the price to pay for staying in this great job that was killing me. With each chip, I’d hope, ‘Maybe there’ll be enough left by the time I leave this job to still be happy. To still be me.’
(Music fades out)
Some days were worse. We’d get scolded for not making hours or told to cancel our plans to close “super-important” deals. Sometimes, I’d have to chip off entire corners from my soul to tell my disappointed family and friends that I couldn't join them. It hurt to do it, but I didn’t have a choice. This was my job. I’d gone to college and law school for seven years, to get this job. To be right here. And so many people WANTED this job, would KILL for it. I was one of the “lucky” ones. “So, chip away, Tiff. Stop whining. Get back to work.”
I numbed myself during the workday and crammed as many happy hours, shopping trips, and weekend getaways into my precious moments off as was humanly possible, desperate to feel alive again. That was my big law life: work hard, play hard, get paid the big bucks. Find ways to not feel these feelings long enough to convince myself that life was good. Eat out all the time because who has time for groceries and cooking? Miss mom’s birthday and family vacations, but send something nice to stand in my place. Or, bring my laptop everywhere and just never stop working.
(Music plays - tonal, grandiose)
During those law firm years, every time I’d toy with the idea of quitting, that risk-averse bastard that lived in my head would start up: “But what will you do? What do you even like? And, you’re 31. You know that, right? You’re gonna start over in a new field that you know nothing about, going against 21-year-olds — fresh, eager kids. Can you handle that? Do you have the stamina?”
Fear-stricken, I’d pick up the chisel and get back to work, the inertia of my life too overwhelming to overthrow.
(Music ends)
Back to that late night in my office at the end of 2014. There I was, waiting for a 300-page contract to print at two a.m. I opened an email. It was a flyer for a scuba diving trip to the Galapagos.
I considered it, for fun. I’d loved the few dives I’d already done, as one of the many activities I’d tried during my time off. And the Galapagos was the top thing on my bucket list.
“Hmmm…” I pondered some more. I’d never dove outside of California before. And live-aboards are supposedly the way to dive. “F*ck it,” I said to myself. “Let’s go.”
I replied to the email, signing up for the trip and asking where to send my $3,700 before I could change my mind. Like so many times before, I had overworked myself and was now buying distractions to make myself feel better.
(Sound of ocean swell)
Fast-forward to June 2015, and I found myself on a boat sailing and scuba diving the Galapagos Islands. As our ship cut across the turquoise sea, I breathed in the warm, tropical air. I closed my eyes, letting it fill my lungs. This was nice. I sat there, on the lawn chair at the front of the sundeck in silence, taking it all in. I was in the Galapagos. I couldn’t believe it.
(Ocean sounds end)
The next day, we started diving. Our plan for the week included many kinds of dives I’d never done before, with more challenging conditions requiring more skills. This was what I was here for, but still, I was nervous. The idea of “blue dives,” in particular, scared me.
In scuba diving, a “blue dive” is when you swim “into the blue” – away from shore and into wide-open ocean. It requires you to let go of the anchors and rocks that keep you grounded. You float in the water column, with no tethers and no references on any side of you, totally and completely at the whim of the currents.
(Sound of breathing through scuba regulator)
Breathing heavily into my scuba regulator, I started talking to myself on our first blue dive: “Tiff, let go,” I told myself.
(Continued sound of breathing, layered with subaquatic white noise)
I watched everyone else swim away, but my fears locked me into place. “Now, Tiff!” I scolded myself. “Everyone is leaving. They’re looking for whale sharks, out THERE, in the blue.” My fingers remained death-gripped onto the rocks. As I tried to focus my eyes on the vast blueness in front of me, my heart beat so intensely I thought it was going to burst.
I just couldn’t let go; there was nothing to hold onto out there. No rocks, no shore, no benchmarks, no safety nets. Just BLUE.
The group was almost out of reach now. Fed up, I gave myself one last shot. “Ugh, Tiff, this is what you came for! GO! LET GO!”
“Aahhh!”
(Scream echos, sound of waves and moving water)
I screamed into my regulator, as I tentatively opened my fingers. I felt a cool rush of water as the current took me up and out. Holy crap. No turning back now.
(Waves crashing, bubbles bubbling)
As we got further from shore, I lost sight of my little rock perch.
(Music plays - orchestral strings)
I stopped looking back, actually. Excitement and wonder had replaced all my fear. “This isn’t scary; this is amazing! Bring on the whale sharks! We’re looking for the biggest fish in the sea!”
The excitement of the search and of being so small in such a vast place felt freeing. I’d never been so unanchored before. The blood flowed through my veins, and my worries from a few minutes ago floated away with my bubbles. I felt so very alive.
(Music swells - twinkling chimes, harp)
We finished our dive, and even though we didn’t find whale sharks, I was hooked. I wanted to do another blue dive, to keep exploring. The promise of something special in that vast nothingness called to me to find it.
(Music swells, then fades)
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline still coursed through my veins. This was nothing like diving I’d done before. At Catalina Island, I just followed my instructor around to regular, safe spots. It was fun and beautiful being underwater, but there was no sense of wild adventure.
Here, in these Galapagos currents, there was no one to blindly follow around, so I was forced to face my fears and the open water. It was invigorating in a way I’d never felt before relying on just myself. The thoughts and emotions and aliveness swirled in my head and kept me awake. What was this that I was feeling? I went up to the top deck with my comforter.
(Music plays - calming piano)
The salty sea air whipped at my face, and I felt almost embraced by the warm night. As the boat lapped through the waves, very bright, distinct little sparkles glimmered at the water's surface. Bioluminescence! They mirrored the southern hemisphere stars up above.
The stars really do look different from the other side of the equator. And there were so many of them, blanketing the endless sky. It was like being in a planetarium. I stared at the glowing water meeting the twinkling skies, and as if it wasn’t magic enough already, shooting stars passed overhead. Incredulous, I just kept staring. I felt high on life. What was this place?
(Piano swells, fades)
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of the story in a moment. But first — it’s that time of year when I’m outdoors a LOT. And when you’re outdoors for hours or days on end, eventually you’re gonna have to pee.
If you’re like me, and you don’t want to schlep around toilet paper — and pack it back out — consider getting a pee cloth. A pee cloth is just what it sounds like: it’s a reusable cloth that you can use to wipe, for number one.
One of our sponsors makes really snazzy pee cloths. They’re called Kula Cloths, and they’re made with antimicrobial material; they have a waterproof backing so you don’t get your fingers wet. And they even have reflective stitching, so it’s easy to find your Kula Cloth at night.
For 15% off your Kula Cloth order, go to outtherepodcast.com/kula and enter the promo code outtherepodcast15. That’s out-there-podcast-dot-com-slash-K-U-L-A. Promo code outtherepodcast15.
And now, back to the story.
TIFFANY: The rest of the trip continued with that same magical feeling.
(Music plays, light-hearted piano)
During the days, we dove and explored. Everything I saw and did blew my mind. I floated alongside 100-year old sea turtles and finished my safety stops in the middle of perfect circles of steel pompano fish.
The stone mountains jutted out of the sapphire seas, and we were so isolated that it felt like we were going back to a prehistoric time. I watched frigate birds fly around the islands and pictured pterodactyls doing the same thing, circling and squawking around these magic isles, millennia ago.
Each evening, I went back up on deck. I breathed in every sunset. They filled me with a peace and happiness that was as unfamiliar as it was reassuring. I spent every free moment right there. I even slept on the lawn chairs instead of in my cabin, unable to stop staring at the stars and unwilling to not feel the breeze on my face.
Everything in my life up to that point had taught me to value power, positions, spending, and stability. There isn’t time in that kind of life for sunsets and starry nights. And yet, somehow, there I was, standing at the bow of this luxury yacht, in the middle of nowhere paradise. And to think, I’d just booked it on a whim because I was sick of reading contracts one night.
(Piano swells, then fades)
As we cruised from island to island, the rocking of the seas would sometimes wake me from my sleep. I’d go to the bow of the boat and stand there, eyes closed, arms out, breathing deeply.
The wind and water danced around me, and I knew deep inside that I’d never forget these moments. The sheer perfection of it all — of floating on a small yacht in the middle of nowhere, listening to ocean gulls call in the night — created a feeling in me that I hadn’t felt in a long time: bliss.
I’d come on this trip alone, and that ended up being the biggest blessing of all. With nothing connecting me to my “real” life other than my name, I arrived to these remote islands as a blank slate. I was literally and figuratively as far as I could be from the life I’d created for myself. From the life that, I now realized, I had trapped myself into.
This newfound distance freed me from the obligations, expectations, and fears that had numbed me and allowed my inner, neglected self to come out of hiding.
(Music plays, calming piano)
Thinking back to those days, I actually see my inner self emerging from the shadows as an entirely separate person from my body. She — this forgotten, wild adventurer — fell asleep on the deck with sunshine in her face and sea breeze running through her hair. She stayed up laughing with strangers-turned-friends in the hot tub. She challenged herself on each dive, questioning who she was, and seeing who might emerge from the depths of the sea. She stood in awe every single night. She explored these foreign lands and undiscovered parts of herself. She was wild, and she was happy.
And then, just like that, it hit me: “she” was me. The real me — the one who dives with sharks, who prioritizes experiences over accomplishments, who loves her life. Going so far away from everything I knew allowed me to let go of the rocks in my life, to fully disconnect for the first time ever. At that point, I had no other reality — not work, not home, not friends, not family. Nothing else existed for me for that entire week — only this boat, these people, diving, waking up with adventure, and falling asleep rocked by the waves.
(Piano fades out)
When I thought about it, I couldn’t believe I’d been spending my 80-120 working hours a week trying to feel numb, trying to not feel alive. I got a more complete picture of who I was, and I had to admit, for the first time, that I didn’t like the life I’d chosen.
(Ocean sounds, waves crashing)
On one of our last nights on the boat, we passed an active volcano spewing lava into the night as dolphins surfed our boat waves. I thought, ‘My God, I’m happy. I am so damn happy. Right here, right now.’ Waves of warmth held me there, and I felt whole, complete, and free.
(Ocean swell)
I realized I hadn’t felt that happy and at peace within myself for the last decade. I quietly resolved to change that. Almost in tears from the realization, I promised myself I wouldn’t go back to that life.
(Music plays - inspiring, tonal piano)
It stung to get off the boat at the end of the week to go back “home.” I didn’t want to acknowledge that there was any other reality for me other than what I had felt that week, because it felt so much more real than my safe, conventional life.
That life, and the idea of going back to it, simultaneously felt like a faint memory and an imminent threat. I considered skipping my flight and getting right back on the boat for the next trip out, to get back to the magic. I didn’t want to lose this.
(Music fades)
When we landed at LAX, I felt uneasy, lost. How was it a boat with strangers, in a place I’d never been before, felt so strongly “home” that it hurt to leave. And yet here in L.A., where all my friends and family were, where I’d made my life for the past 10 years, I now felt absurd, forced — almost like a crushing prison. I knew something had to change.
Over the next few weeks, I decided to quit. The more I analyzed myself, the more it became painfully clear that I’d never taken time to figure out what work called to me. Instead, I had looked to others for suggestions and then validation that I was becoming someone they approved of.
And I had succeeded. Only, now, I realized I didn’t share their definition of a “successful life.” No, I wanted something different for myself. I wanted to live slower, wake up with the sun, and feel alive in my own skin. I wanted to do work that invigorated me as much as I’d felt on the bow of that boat. I wanted, for the first time ever, to choose my own life.
Back in my office, one month after my Galapagos trip, I played Rachel Platten. “This is my fight song; Take back my life song. Prove I’m alright song,” Rachel sang.
Time to let go of the old rocks in my life and trust the currents to bring me where I’m meant to be — towards the big magic.
(Music plays - slow piano)
I could see now that my job at the law firm was the devil I knew, and that staying seemed less scary than the vast unknown blue. But, the blue was where the magic was. It was time to let go and define my own life.
I turned the volume way up. “My power’s turned on,” Rachel belted. “Starting right now I’ll be strong.” Screaming along, crying, I told myself, “I’m brave. I’m strong. I’m courageous, and I deserve better than this. I deserve a life I love.”
I opened up a quote I’d saved for this exact moment, to hold myself accountable: “Do something today that your future self will thank you for.” I read it out loud, my nerves finally steadying. Conviction, tears, and adrenaline swirled around inside me. I took a deep breath, and walked to the managing partner’s office next door.
“Bob, do you have a moment?” I said.
(Piano plays on, concludes)
Twenty minutes and a bunch of tears later, it was done. The dream-nightmare I’d imagined and hoped for and dreaded for six years was done. Quitting my career and the life I’d lived for 31 years felt like the hardest thing I’d ever chosen to do. Utterly spent, I packed up my purse and left, for good.
(Music plays - inspirational piano)
Now, three years later, I look back at those pivotal moments in the currents of the sea, and I see how they saved me.
I’m grateful every day for what has come since and don’t regret the decision to quit, ever. I feel more alive, resilient, and authentically me than I’ve ever before.
Since letting go of my stagnant cubicle life, I’ve followed the winds and currents in search of my own something magic out there, exploring, trying, failing, and learning.
I moved to Singapore, Rio de Janeiro, and the Amazon rainforest. I trained with Al Gore in climate activism, published my writings, and joined a marine advocacy nonprofit. My work in this arena resonates deeply with me, helping to save the ocean that gave me so much of myself back.
(Piano concludes)
I still don’t have solid answers, but I’ve learned to trust in the unknown and to take wild bets on myself. I lean into my fears, the uncertainty reminding me that I’m alive and I’m real.
I’ve got just this one life, and I’m determined to keep creating a life I don’t need a vacation from.
On a recent dive, a friend who I’d met on that momentous Galapagos trip shared his observations with me. “You were alone a lot on that trip,” he said. “You were journaling all the time. It felt like you were searching for something.”
(Music plays, dreamy piano, strings)
I laughed, because he was right. “Yeah, I was,” I answered. “Me. I was searching for me.” I smiled, knowing without a doubt that I’d finally found myself, and that that was all I’d ever need.
(Piano and strings swell)
WILLOW: That was Tiffany Duong. She’s a writer, an explorer, and an inspirational speaker, and she’s trying to save the world and have the time of her life doing it. Tiff is also one of Out There’s ambassadors.
You can read more about her at her website, tiffanyduong.com. And you can follow her on Instagram and Twitter @TiffMakesWaves.
This story first aired on Out There in 2018. Some of the sound effects we used in the piece come from Martin Erdtmann. And a huge thank you to Sara Hossaini for recording Tiffany’s narration.
If you enjoyed this story, please share the link with a friend! We’re always eager for new listeners, and your recommendation is our best form of advertising.
(Music fades)
Coming up next time on Out There, we’re going to spend a day with a trail angel on the Colorado Trail.
BILL APPEL: Welcome, there’s all kinds of goodies, help yourself. Cold drinks are in the cooler, help yourself. And there’s chocolate donuts.
(Sound of rooting around in a cooler for drinks)
UNIDENTIFIED VOICE: Oh my God, a Coca Cola. They’re so cold. Ohhhh.
WILLOW: What makes a person commit over-the-top acts of kindness for total strangers? Tune in on August 18th for an award-winning story about altruism on the trail.
(Music plays - meandering guitar)
A big thank you to all of our patrons, including Sam Shopinski, Eric Biederman, Phil Timm, Doug Frick, Tara Joslin, and Deb and Vince Garcia.
As I mentioned at the top of the show, patrons are listeners who support Out There with monthly financial contributions. These gifts are what make it possible to do what we do. To become a patron, click the link in the episode description, or go to patreon.com/outtherepodcast.
Thank you so much!
(Sound of breeze)
WILLOW (tape): K, opening up PeakVisor…
WILLOW (narration): Remember, from the start of the episode, when I was out on top of a mountain?
WILLOW (tape): Oh, this is cool. It tells me — it pops up, it knows where I am. It says, “Oh, you’re on Medicine Bow Peak,” and it says, “Tap to sign in and claim your visit.” So you can kind of keep track of what mountains you’ve climbed.
WILLOW (narration): PeakVisor is one of our sponsors. Their app not only lets me keep track of my accomplishments; it also shows me a panorama of all the mountains I’m looking at, with all the peaks labeled.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There Theme music plays - guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
If you’re new to Out There, check out the Best of Out There playlist. This is a collection of some of our favorite episodes of all time — and it’s a great introduction to the range of stories we do on the show. You can find Best of Out There on Spotify, and at our website, outtherepodcast.com.
Today’s story was written and narrated by Tiffany Duong. Story editing and sound design by me, Willow Belden. Out There’s advertising manager is Jessica Taylor. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
Have a beautiful day, and we’ll see you in three weeks.
(Theme music concludes)
