A bubbler with a PhD said something to me recently that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
“Once wet, you cannot get any wetter.”
At first, it sounded like one of those funny observations that makes you smile and move on.
But the more I sat with it, the deeper it became.
Because it isn’t really about being wet.
It’s about fear.
So much of our lives are spent trying to avoid discomfort.
Avoid embarrassment.
Avoid failure.
Avoid rejection.
Avoid uncertainty.
We stand at the edge of the pool, dipping our toes in, wondering if the water will be too cold.
We hesitate.
We overthink.
We imagine all the things that could go wrong.
But once you’ve jumped in…
You’re wet.
The thing you were afraid of has already happened.
And suddenly the fear loses much of its power.
I’ve seen this happen throughout my own life.
The first time I stepped onto a stage.
The first time I jumped out of an airplane.
The first time I performed with giant bubbles in front of strangers.
The first time I admitted I was burned out.
The first time I shared my story publicly.
Each experience felt terrifying beforehand.
But after taking the leap, I discovered something surprising.
The anticipation was often worse than the reality.
Once I was in the experience, I adapted.
I learned.
I survived.
Sometimes I even thrived.
Burnout taught me this lesson in a different way.
There came a point where I was exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
The life I had carefully built was no longer working.
And for a while, I fought it.
I wanted to go back.
I wanted things to be the way they were before.
But eventually I realized something.
I was already in the water.
The burnout had happened.
The old version of me was gone.
The only path forward was through.
Once wet, you cannot get any wetter.
There is a strange freedom in accepting reality.
Not giving up.
Not surrendering your dreams.
But surrendering the fight against what already is.
When we stop resisting, we can finally begin responding.
Bubbles remind me of that too.
A bubble doesn’t fight the wind.
It doesn’t argue with the weather.
It doesn’t demand perfect conditions.
It simply responds to what is.
And somehow, in that surrender, it finds its dance.
Maybe that’s what courage really is.
Not the absence of fear.
Not waiting until we feel ready.
But recognizing that sometimes the thing we’re afraid of has already happened.
And once we’re in the water, we might as well learn to swim.
Or at least learn to enjoy the splash.
