It's hard to decide what's worse, heading into dangers uninformed and hoping for the best or researching said dangers extensively before allowing myself to walk into situations where they may become reality.
I am, of course, talking about my upcoming tropical vacation. For the first time, I will be heading farther south than Detroit.
I couldn't even handle camping on the shores of lakes in Nova Scotia without a substantial amount of research into the numbers and varieties of poisonous snakes and spiders lurking in the untouched wilderness. That's not even mentioning the research put into finding out about various species of eels as well as how to survive a bear attack or, worse, a leech attack.
So I decided some months ago that going to the Caribbean would require a lot of research.
Reassured that there were only two types of spiders to be avoided at all costs and deciding just to not ever, ever come into contact with any species of snake, whether it reside in the Caribbean or the wilds of Alberta, I was pretty smug about my research choice.
Then I decided to research shark attacks. Relatively reassured that they were pretty rare in the area, I registered myself for a little bit of snorkelling out at a reef and called it a day.
Then I started thinking about it.
In what world is leaping out of a boat in the middle of the warm Caribbean sea, armed only with a mask and a pair of flippers, a good idea?
When attacked by a bear, you've got behind you, in front of you, and beside you to worry about. Sharks operate on a whole different scale.
In the ocean, attack can come from anywhere. Even below you. How am I supposed to keep watch in the murky depths when sharks can be anywhere?
If there is anybody likely to be eaten by a shark, it's me. That's just the way my luck goes. Things I'm afraid of generally seem to happen. I once spent an entire summer concerned a fish would jump down my bathing suit while swimming with my friends.
Guess whose bathing suit not one but two fish decided to jump down at the end of summer? Mine.
I once worried that a seagull would poop on my head at Peggy's Cove.
When the seagull let go of the crab it had just plucked from the sea, guess who it decided to drop it on? Me.
Though maybe getting hit with a crab is better than getting hit by anything else a seagull might have to throw.
Despite my research into the likelihood of a shark attack, I allowed my imagination to convince me it's pretty much guaranteed that a Great White will somehow swim past and decide to eat me during my hour of snorkelling next week.
Then I did possibly the worst thing of all: I asked Google for tips on how to survive a shark attack.
The odds aren't good, my friends.
I think I'll have to rely on some age old wisdom: swimming with a buddy reduces your chances of being eaten by a shark by 50 per cent.
Apparently warding off a shark is easier with a rock or a spear gun, and I can't see myself having either of those handy. I considered tucking a dagger into my belt for emergencies, but let's be honest, I'd probably just cut myself on it and open a whole new can of worms and shark-attracting bloody wounds.
I miss the days when all I had to worry about was playing dead and protecting my neck when being attacked by a bear.
Apparently sharks like it when prey plays dead.
I'm still going to get into the water, however.
I might have an overactive imagination but I still know not to waste the opportunity of a lifetime.
