FIELD NOTES: Finding Freedom Beyond the Rush
The prize is not in the chase, but in the unfolding.
What is this rush going through my body? Where does it stem from? Is it actually serving me, or am I just making myself crazy over nothing?
I wake up with that familiar thought: "I am not going fast enough." Again that vicious loop.
The sun was blazing over Dahab when I first met Mansour. The Egyptian coastline shimmered against the Red Sea as he greeted me with a knowing smile. "Most people come here thinking freediving is about holding your breath the longest or diving the deepest," he said, "but those who succeed understand it's about finding peace within the pressure."
For three days, I practiced equalisation techniques, perfected my finning, and learned to extend my breath. I passed test after test, but that final challenge—a free dive to 12 meters—remained just beyond my grasp. Each attempt followed the same pattern: initial confidence dissolved into panic as depth increased, my body fighting against the growing pressure, my mind racing with thoughts of failure.
On our final day, after yet another failed attempt, Mansour noticed my frustration. "Antoine," he said quietly as we floated in the azure waters, "before we finish, do you wish to do one last dive? Just for fun?"
His eyes held mine as he added, "Drop all expectations and just enjoy your dive. There's no pressure anymore at this stage."
I nodded, closed my eyes, and allowed the gentle rocking of the sea calm my nerves. My breathing slowed as I entered a meditative state I hadn't been able to access before. When I finally slipped beneath the surface, something had changed.
I wasn't counting meters or thinking about certification requirements. I was simply... there. The water embraced me as I descended, the sunlight filtering through in dancing rays. The pressure felt like a gentle hug rather than an opposing force.
When my hand nearly touched the seabed, I realised with surprise how deep I had gone. Looking up, I could see Mansour's silhouette against the light, waiting. I ascended calmly, no rush, no strain. His wide smile greeted me at the surface. "Congratulations," he said, "you have passed all tests."
I was baffled. In that moment when I had stopped trying to achieve, everything had felt natural, joyful without constraint. I wasn't focused on going the extra mile, I was simply embracing the experience, and in doing so, had unconsciously pushed my boundaries further than ever.
Now when I feel that morning rush, that anxious voice saying I can't complete things fast enough, I remember the Red Sea floor. I pause and stop working against myself. I honour my daily effort, knowing I'm learning and moving forward, remembering it should be fun.
We are taught to seek the certainty of a predictable path. Yet, I've come to understand that my most meaningful work was never born from such a rigid plan. It came from following a thread of genuine curiosity—a willingness to step beyond the comfortable bubble and into the chaos where true opportunity lives. When you operate this way, the outcome isn't conquered; it unfolds. It arrives with a quiet surprise that leaves you asking not, "Did I achieve this?" but "How was I fortunate enough to be a part of this?"
The prize is not in the chase, but in the unfolding.
Trust the hunch. Find the story.
Antoine
indeed … I literally just bought a book about letting go :-)