A few months ago, my dear friend, Kathleen McDonough, invited me to join her in Cozumel. She had a day of pilates-related business in nearby Cancun (she’s an unparalleled physical therapist and nationally certified pilates instructor). So, she figured it made sense to extend the trip and take advantage of being on the Yucatán Peninsula, especially since she had secured a free place to stay. There were a bunch of reasons to say no. I agreed on the spot, thereby passing the first “don’t get in your own way” test.

On the plane, the airline magazine showed a photo of a cenote—a turquoise sunken pool of water ringed by cavern walls. The natural pit is created when limestone bedrock collapses, exposing groundwater. Because the water in a cenote comes from rain that filters through the ground, it’s often extremely clear, with very little suspended particulate matter. 

I’d never heard of cenotes and didn’t learn much about them from the article. I just knew I needed to visit one. So, when we decided that I would take the ferry to Playa del Carmen and meet Kathleen after her 24-hour stint in Cancun, booking a private tour to the Santa Cruz cenote and the Tulum ruins was a no-brainer.

“You guys are okay with dark, tight spaces, right?” our tour guide, who looked like a young incarnation of an ancient Mayan, asked as we headed out.

Say what?

After a 30-minute bumpy ride—a Mayan massage according to our guide—on a dirt road out of Akumal through a jungle still populated by jaguars, we turned into a rusted compound of sorts with wood-hewn structures and several long tables under an expansive palapa. Ten minutes later, dressed in our bathing suits, water shoes, and life vests and armed with flashlights, we climbed down a ladder with little to no idea of what we were in for.

It turns out that Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula alone has an estimated 10,000 cenotes, many of which are linked by a series of caves through which water flows, thereby forming the world’s largest underground river network. Some cenotes are large enough to scuba dive in and attract lots of tourists. Others, like the one we visited, only allow one group at a time and, once you climb down the rope ladder into the tiny dry cavern entrance, require a little walking, a little stooping, a little wading, and, at the end, a little swimming.

We made our way past the stalagmites, stalactites, and 20-foot-long ropes of twisted tree roots, and then through the bat-filled cavern that was pitch-black when we turned off our flashlights just to see how dark it really was. Eventually, we began to see shadows of light that quickly gave way to an illuminated aqua jewel that grew larger and larger as we closed in on the sun-drenched sinkhole opening. Magic!

It would have been so easy to allow uncertainty to scare me away. Never having gone caving, I had no idea whether dark, tight spaces would freak me out. Was there a voice in my head saying, “Don’t get in your own way?” Not that I recall. But I’m thrilled that I passed the second “don’t get in your own way” test.

Will I keep passing those “don’t get in your own way” tests, especially when it comes to writing? I don’t know. But I’m sure going to try.