During childhood summers, poolside or at the beach, I always had a sneaking regard for those all-or nothing hardy types who plunged straight into the water. Their short sharp shock familiarization process. Brave. Or (to me) preening try-hard.
Growing up in coastal South Australia taught me two things about the flat creamy expanses of St Vincent's Gulf city beaches. Firstly, that sharks might emerge in as little as three feet of water, and secondly, that frigid sea water temperature invariably jolts awake even the most sun-sleepy bather. Now, even in tropical climes, it is an effort for me to approach swimming water unless the air temperature exceeds 86 F degrees. A body memory of sea-swimming-means-shuddering-goosebumps leaves an indelible imprint.
That slow icy creep of waves over my sun heated heated body, the neck-hair tingling dread mixed with tentative anticipation as I slowly edged into the sea. When the water level reached my waist the dread inevitability of a greater chill propelled me under. Snorting salt water I'd re-emerge, cooled, relishing my buoyancy and wondering what took me so long to embrace the waves.
And so it may prove about 'new media' and me.
The Web Writing class I attend urges students to tweet, blog, and profligately profile themselves out there in web world. For me that is a bit like suggesting that an anglophone take up residence in Kazakhstan, their only language aid being a rudimentary dictionary. Immersion therapy, they call it.
The way I see it, witnesses to my swimming timidity then were maybe fifty probably self-absorbed beach goers. Whereas now, new media's learning curve is steep; stuff up and your mistakes are publicly magnified.
