Nat Locke: Did my childhood obsession with quicksand help me prepare for adulthood and all its struggles?

Thanks to a steady childhood diet of cartoons (I’m looking at you, Banana Splits) there are certain dangers that loomed disproportionately large in my childhood, considering I lived on a farm out of Esperance.

Piranhas, for example. Being swallowed by a whale. Falling into a volcano. Accidentally stepping on a trapdoor concealed beneath a suspiciously leafy patch of jungle.

And then there was the granddaddy of them all: quicksand.

If you read as many comics and watched as many cartoons as I did, quicksand appeared to be one of the leading causes of death worldwide. It seemed to lurk everywhere, waiting patiently beneath innocent-looking ground for an unsuspecting hero, explorer or talking animal to wander past. I mentally prepared myself for this impending threat with an unparalleled rigour.

Fortunately, this was a learning opportunity. We learned not to struggle. We learned that if we ever found ourselves sinking chest-deep into a muddy bog, our companions would need to locate a conveniently placed vine, tree branch or rope and haul us to safety.

What we did not learn was that we would spend our adult lives encountering exactly zero quicksand emergencies.

Which is why the recent story of the Adelaide girl who became stuck in sand at Glenelg Beach felt strangely validating.

Finally, after decades of waiting, quicksand finally made an appearance. You could almost hear my entire generation thinking: “At last. The training is relevant.”

Apparently, she stepped off a rock into some wet sand and became stuck. Really stuck. And while she wasn’t in danger of being sucked under, she was in danger of hypothermia and an incoming tide. She called for help, but unfortunately, the relevant authorities assumed she had gotten her vehicle stuck and referred her to the equivalent of the RAC.

Spoiler alert: she made it out alive. And not a twisted vine to be seen.

The reality, of course, is that genuine quicksand is considerably less dramatic than all those toons suggested. It exists, but it is relatively uncommon, and it is much less likely to swallow a person whole.

Still, I sometimes wonder whether our childhood obsession with quicksand was preparing us for something else entirely.

Because adulthood, as it turns out, is full of metaphorical quicksand.

The first step into it often feels harmless.

Perhaps it’s a project at work that gradually expands until it occupies every waking hour. What began as a small commitment becomes an all-consuming swamp of meetings, spreadsheets and deadlines.

The more you struggle, the deeper you seem to sink.

Or perhaps it is the quicksand of university group assignments, where you start optimistically and are soon inevitably drowning in missed Zoom calls and passive-aggressive emails and before you know it you’ve written the whole damn thing yourself while the rest of your group stands around and ignores you while you’re dragged under.

Oh, and then there is financial quicksand. We’re all a victim of this. A streaming subscription here. An accidental candle subscription there (seriously — I don’t know how to stop it). A gym membership you bought on January first in 2016.

Each expense appears minor in isolation but together they create a soft, yielding surface beneath your financial security.

What makes metaphorical quicksand particularly frustrating is that our instinctive response is often exactly wrong. When something goes awry, we tend to panic, thrash around and expend enormous amounts of energy. Yet many difficult situations improve when we stop struggling long enough to think clearly. Wow, Nat. How wise.

That, interestingly enough, is also true of actual quicksand. I’ve done the research for you, in case you find yourself inexplicably on Glenelg beach or in an episode of Scooby Doo. Experts generally recommend three simple strategies.

First, don’t panic (duh!). Sudden movements can make extraction more difficult and waste valuable energy.

Second, lean back and increase your surface area. Floating is easier than sinking, and spreading your weight helps reduce pressure on the sand.

Third, move slowly and deliberately. Gradually work your legs free with gentle movements rather than trying to yank yourself out in one dramatic effort.

It is surprisingly good advice for life as well.

When you find yourself stuck, be it work, finances, relationships or circumstances, panic rarely helps. Creating space often does. And slow, steady progress is usually more effective than frantic struggling. Which means that after all these years, perhaps our childhood quicksand education was not entirely wasted.

We may never need a vine. But learning how not to panic when life gets sticky is a survival skill worth nurturing.

Piranhas on the other hand . . . well, they’re a whole other matter.