It’s probably fine!

Us humans are an interesting bunch.

We like doing weird stuff.

What’s completely normal to one person can be deeply strange to another.

Divers are an even more exceptionally weird bunch.

To start with, we spend loads of money to go underwater, where the air isn’t.

For a surprisingly long time.

And somehow, this becomes normal.

Soon, things that would concern a perfectly reasonable person become minor inconveniences to a diver.

Take fish.

Most people enjoy looking at fish.

As a diver, you spend your day underwater looking at them.

Sometimes for hours.

You’ll talk about the fish after the dive.

You’ll show people pictures of the fish at dinner.

Eventually, your life becomes a continuous discussion about very strange fish.

It’s an obsession, really.

Our idea of what constitutes a problem also changes.

Pressure isn't particularly friendly to your ears.

As a diver, ear problems become strangely normal.

Infection?Fine.

Congestion? Completed it.

Can't equalise? Bit annoying.

Everyone has these problems.

Get over it, Sarah.

It also doesn't matter if the tank is leaking a little.

Small bubbles? No trouble.

Imagine applying that logic to a car.

“Oh, there’s only a small fuel leak.”

We’ll also become convinced we're mechanically gifted.

We use this big, fancy thing called a regulator.

We know roughly how it works.

We know roughly how to fix it.

So naturally, we’ll fix it.

Usually by using someone else.

Every boat you get on ever now becomes your second home.

You know exactly where everything is, the most qualified on the boat.

You can walk around without holding onto anything.

Meanwhile, a first-time passenger is making their way down the cabin like they've just stepped onto a ship during a hurricane.

Don’t help... Just watch.

Because you have sea legs now.

Apparently.

You’ll also find yourself getting irrationally annoyed by very small things.

If someone calls a mask and fins “goggles and flippers”, a little part of you dies.

Penguins have flippers.

Divers have fins.

Please and thank you.

And if you can't see more than 15 metres underwater?

Visibility was awful - terrible conditions.

Would not dive again.

Day ruined.

Meanwhile, the snorkelers are floating around on the surface having the best day of their lives.

Shallow has also developed a completely new meaning.

Five metres was once terrifying.

Now? Barely worth putting your fins on for.

Dangerous, if anything.

Communicating with hand signals becomes completely normal.

You can have an entire conversation using three of them.

Sometimes you'll even start doing it on the surface.

At lunch.

Nobody knows why.

Underwater, meanwhile, you'll happily talk to your buddy through your regulator as though there is any possibility whatsoever that they can hear you.

Divers also seem to have their fears slightly backwards.

We’re completely comfortable swimming with a shark.

A shark.

Fine.

A triggerfish looks at us slightly aggressively?

Nightmare fuel.

And if a perfectly reasonable person decided to jump into a ripping current, we'd probably have some concerns.

A diver sees the same current and thinks:

“Looks fun.”

And in the end, I suppose that’s what happens.

And don’t even get me started on free divers… 

Things that once seemed strange become normal.

Going underwater.

Breathing from a tank.

Talking about fish at dinner.

Being annoyed by 15 metres of visibility.

Getting into a wetsuit voluntarily.

Trusting a tiny piece of equipment with your entire ability to breathe.

All perfectly normal.

If you're a diver. Very unusual creatures.

Everyone else thinks we're crazy.

They might have a point.