Ever since I was a little kid, I've been obsessed with the sea. I read for countless hours about it's residents. Extinct or thriving, legends or scientific fact- It didn't matter. I've always wanted to know all I can about the ocean's and the creatures inhabiting them. It makes sense then, that one of my dreams was to see a shark in the wild. Sharks are probably the most famous- and infamous- creatures in the sea, and arguably one of the most recognizable animals on the planet.

Everyone knows the silhouette; the black fin cutting through the water. And everyone knows what follows; the flash of teeth, the blood in the water, and the culprit slipping away into the depths (That is, if you believe in the Hollywood interpretation). I, of course, knew the truth, being the obsessive little science nerd that I was: that you are more likely to be killed by lightning than by a shark, etc. I knew about all kinds of sharks too, from the tiny cookie cutter shark to the giant whale shark , from the sluggish Greenland shark to the lightning fast Mako. I knew all of this, yet when I imagined seeing my first wild shark, I never imagined that it would be underwater. I was paradoxically terrified of deep water, and therefore always imagined myself as one of the scientists in the boat on the Animal Planet shows, tagging them and studying them from the surface.

Then, eight years later, I found myself in the Caribbean sea off the island of St. Croix, 40 feet underwater with a scuba tank strapped to my back. My dad and I had gotten scuba certified in the spring of 2015, and we had wanted test out our new skills over the long Columbus day weekend. We had found ourselves a appropriately quirky scuba guide (he once said that his favorite things about St. Croix was that he could drink whenever he wanted, because there are no open container laws), and had immediately gotten started diving. The water was warm and clear; we had already seen enough fish, sea turtles, and coral to last me a lifetime. The world around me was pure magic, and I had never before been in such a state of wonderment.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black shadow. I slowly flipper kicked around to face what was behind me. It wasn't very big by shark standards; five or six feet long at most. It swam differently then any other fish I'd seen: it swam smoothly, like it was part of the water rather than simply moving through it. It was effortless and efficient. I understood then why some ancient peoples thought they were water spirits rather than fish. My heart was going a mile a minute, yet I wasn't scared. It clearly didn't even care I was there. Yet there was a distinct feeling that I was foreign, that I didn't belong. Like it was the person, and I was the monster. It continued swimming, and I watched as it faded into the blue. My dad had seen it too, and he was excitedly waving at me, his eyes wide behind his mask. I acknowledged him, waving back, and we continued our dive.

On the surface, the guide told me what I had known as soon as I saw the shark; that it was a black tip reef shark, and that they were fairly common around St. Croix. As we drove to back to our little hotel, I knew that my bucket list was most certainly one item shorter.