Many have likely pondered how much their life is worth, but I’d like to think few could put an actual price on it. The running joke in my family is that my life is worth $23. We arrived at this precise number based on the amount my dad once paid a group of fishers who rescued me when I was lost at sea on a jet ski. In my defense — and his — he was prepared to spend thousands more on a rescue helicopter but was spared the expense when a humble commercial fishing boat happened upon our hapless group, just off international waters that were frequented by pirates.
When I was growing up, my dad owned a business that sold motorcycles, jet skis, and boats. He never went to college, but his hard work, extroverted personality, and adventuresome spirit propelled him to success in the industry. To popularize jet skiing, which was a relatively new sport in Malaysia, my dad organized a weekend-long excursion to beautiful, exotic Tioman Island. With jet skis’ limited fuel-tank capacity, riders would have to stop part way to refuel before continuing on to their overnight accommodations. A boat would lead the group, and my uncle, who worked as my dad’s right-hand man, would act as “sweeper,” making sure no one was left behind. Both my brother, 14 at that time, and I, at age 11, were entrusted with a jet ski of our own, but because my jet ski wouldn’t start, I ended up riding with my uncle.
To be honest I remember little of the trip. I know we got off to a great start. I know our island destination was beautiful. And I know the return trip did not go as planned. Being part of the mechanic crew, my uncle helped some straggling riders before departing, leaving just in time to see the lead boat in the distance. As this final group of four jet skis continued at a slower pace, however, the lead boat was soon out of sight. We continued in the direction we had been going, but as those familiar with boating will attest, just a slight error early on — one or two degrees off course — will result in a huge route deviation. After hours of riding, our gas tanks — including the reserve tanks — were nearly empty. We had almost no food or water onboard and no real sense of how long our meager provisions would need to last. We knew we should have reached the refueling stop long ago. On every side, we saw nothing but water. The line between sky and sea blurred in a disorienting fog of blue. Occasionally a member of the group would spot something in the distance — a boat or an island — and relief would well within us until we realized it was only a mirage. We bobbed in the sea for hours. I have never felt so disoriented.
I sat by my Uncle Richard, quietly praying and holding onto hope that we would find rescue. Reflecting on the experience years later, he admitted that he was terrified. My recollection of Uncle Richard, however, is that he provided calm leadership that inspired hope in the face of uncertainty, helping each one of us in the group choose hope over fear, even as the sun moved persistently across the sky and the threat of nightfall approached.
There have been many moments in my own life when I’ve felt as though I was being tossed in the sea,with plenty of reasons to fear: moving abroad to the U.S., having my one-week-old son diagnosed with meningitis, powerlessly observing mounting sociopolitical turmoil in countries of operations that I help support. If I’m honest, worrying thoughts and anxiety still grip me many days, sometimes multiple times a day. But I’m learning the value of choosing hope over fear. Where fear paralyzes, hope empowers us to pursue the next right step and take it.
As an 11-year-old boy waiting for rescue, I could not have imagined that years later I would be reflecting on this experience during another disorienting time: as we battle the coronavirus, confront the ugliness of injustices, and face personal crises like job loss, illness, or relational stress. Waves may be battering our families, our businesses, and our communities, and we have little control over these external circumstances. Floating in the sea, none of us know how our story will end. But as my Uncle Richard so gracefully modeled, it is always within our power to choose hope over fear. With hope as my guide, I am learning to be in the sea without being adrift.
P.S. I will still go on a jet ski ride if anyone is up for it…
