This past weekend, I took my family to Catalina Island to dive the beautiful Eco Park—a place alive with kelp forests that tower like underwater cathedrals, giant seabass gliding silently by, and countless other creatures that invite you into another world.
Before our dives, I wandered into a small scuba museum next door. Inside was a timeline of human exploration beneath the surface—brass helmets, early compasses and gauges, knives, even Jacques Cousteau’s original gear from the 1950s. To my surprise, there was even a duplicate of my old Nikonos V camera, the one I carried in the 80s and 90s, chewing through film and O-rings but capturing memories I still cherish.
The bearded curator behind the counter had four decades of stories. He’d trained Navy SEALs, worked with astronauts, and supported experimental programs in the 70s and 80s. His stories reminded me that diving has always pushed the edges of human capacity. Wrong gear, wrong conditions, wrong preparation—and the outcome could be catastrophic. Get it right, though, and you slip into flow, where the dive feels effortless, whether for fun or under extreme challenge.
That lesson has been reinforced in my 45+ years of diving. From the mud-laden lakes of Minnesota to the crystalline waters of Maui and the Galápagos…from wreck dives in Lake Superior’s icy depths to descending into Iceland’s tectonic rift at Silfra…one truth holds: every dive depends on many moving parts.
Some you control—your preparation, your mindset, your equipment, and the buddy at your side. Others you don’t—currents, weather, visibility, wildlife. When everything aligns, it’s magic. When it doesn’t, it can turn fast.
This trip, everything went right—four smooth, spectacular dives with my son. But the real lesson came not at depth—it came the next morning in just two feet of water, swimming with my daughter. That’s when a stingray drove its barb straight between the bones of my foot.
Painful, yes. But more than that, it was a reminder.
Even in the calmest, most beautiful circumstances, surprises strike. The risks don’t disappear just because the setting feels safe.
My takeaway: Always be ready, but never be surprised.
That lesson doesn’t just belong underwater. It applies in leadership, in teams, and in life. No matter how much we prepare, there will always be variables beyond our control. The best we can do is align what we can influence—our skills, our focus, our systems, our people—so that when the unexpected comes, we’re ready to adapt and keep moving forward.
Because whether you’re diving, leading, or living: flow emerges when preparation meets presence.