We've all been there - that moment when a challenge feels so overwhelming that we're convinced we're drowning. The water seems impossibly deep, the shore distant, and we're certain we're in over our heads. But what if I told you that sometimes, all we need to do is put our feet down?

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When I was in college, a bunch of friends and I made a road trip to Florida for spring break. We weren't there to party. We were there to train and enjoy the sun. You see, as members of the Triathlon Club, we took endurance sports seriously!

After arriving in Florida, we decided to venture out towards the end of the Florida Keys for a long day trip. After a few hours of driving, we pulled over for a swim. The weather wasn't great, with clouds overhead and a bit of wind, but as experienced swimmers we figured it would be best to get our workout in before worse weather moved in.

The spot we chose was a desolate shoreline at what looked to be a wide channel of water between islands. There was plenty of sand on the beach, but not a soul to be seen. The waves were mild, but picking up slightly with the wind. Some of us wore wetsuits, others did not. Looking out at the ocean, there was a small island in the distance. We didn't know how far it was, but we wanted to swim 1-2 miles anyway, and figured it would be a good sight marker for the swim. We jumped in and started making our way out.

Within seconds I realized that the water was far from the crystal blue I imagined, but a milky color. As I reached forward with every stroke, my hand would disappear into the murkiness. We swam in a close pack, but it was impossible to see the feet ahead of me. I felt incredibly alone and noticed panic setting in.

While I love swimming, I've had a long-standing fear of water - especially the ocean. It's almost as if life nudges us to embrace the things we fear. Swimming in water the color of skim milk didn't help!

The fear compounded as I saw my friends start to pull ahead of me. A small gap grew to a dozen yards, their distant arm strokes disappearing behind waves. It also occurred to me that at this time of day, late afternoon, the sharks must be out, and getting hungry for a snack! Occasional brushes with seaweed sent my amygdala into overdrive.

After what seemed like half a mile of swimming, I treaded water and started screaming for my friends to stop. I had to turn back. The panic was intense. Unfortunately, they couldn't hear me as they were hundreds of feet ahead. I lifted off my goggles and tried to assess the situation. The wind was getting worse. The waves were choppy. The sky was more grey by the minute. My terror of being shark bait was unabated.

I turned around and started to swim back to shore, and within minutes felt a hard series of blows on my feet. In a panic, I turned around to face whatever sea beast it was, only to see that my friends had returned! They had noticed I was missing and backtracked.

Then, finally regrouped, they literally stood up one by one. I was perplexed, as in my mind the water was leagues deep. Slowly I reached down with one foot and found a sandy bottom. Rising to stand, I laughed at the realization that what I thought was a terrifying ocean, was a shallow stretch of water about 4 feet deep. Technically it was still the ocean, but the fact that I could stand changed everything.

Instantly, my terror vanished and was replaced with a mix of manageable fear and focus. We all agreed that the weather was turning sour, and we needed to get to shore. Together, we swam back to the beach.

Back on shore, we all agreed that it was dumb to go for a long swim where and when we did! Luckily, none of us were shark food that day. Perhaps there were a few lurking out there in the murky waters, but the real drama played out in my mind - imagining unfathomable depths and monsters rising up. The illusion was smashed with the simple understanding that the water was only chest high.

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I'm sharing this story because in my coaching practice I often encounter high performers who have their own "deep water" moments. They feel like they are out of their depths, and that their work - or bosses, competitors, customers - might get them good. Maybe it's the executive who's convinced they're drowning in a reorganization, or the entrepreneur who feels like market conditions are pulling them under. The challenges are real, the stakes are high, and the fear is overwhelming.

But inevitably, we realize that the darkest and strangest of waters exist in the mind. When you start to recognize this fact, the challenges don't go away, but they become much more manageable. Terror is replaced by focus and motivation to act.

It's not a stretch to say that even when we feel like we might drown, all we need is the wisdom to know that we are only a thought away from standing tall above the seemingly deep noise. It's inevitably shallower than we think.

The ocean is still the ocean. The challenges are still real. But when you can stand, everything changes about how you navigate them.