Swimming in it

Sometimes I don't realize what's happening in my mind until I hear myself say it out loud. A couple of weeks ago, I got back in the lap pool after a decade-long break from swimming. I called a friend when I got home to share my triumph. She was supportive and curious; she asked what it was that made that day the day I got back in the pool. I explained that as I grabbed my keys to go for a walk, I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror and I knew that I had to go swimming because I needed to know my word was good with me.

Returning to swimming started as an idea about how to exercise regularly again, but it morphed into a battle of wills between me & me. For the past year+, I did all kinds of imaginary scheduling gymnastics about when I would go swim–next week, tomorrow, once I was back from vacation–and finally, that morning I realized that I couldn't stand myself if I went to bed one more night rationalizing another fake plan to go swimming later.

There were so many reasons not to swim (enough to cover me for a year and a half!). As much as I yearned to move around in the water, I had big questions. Would it be more humbling than my ego could bear, would I not like it, would I immediately turn it into something I needed to be better at? When I floated my concerns via text to a friend, he offered a much-needed permission slip to ignore the chatter.

Fuck, do 5 laps and get out. That's what I did.

I jerked my head back from my phone and wrinkled my nose. Was that a real possibility? It didn't sound like enough effort for the level of swim drama I was experiencing. Days later, it dawned on me that avoiding getting back in the pool after ten years sounded like a struggle with gravitas while avoiding swimming five laps sounded straight-up ridiculous. 

Seven days later (yes, it still took me a week), I walked to the pool in my neighborhood and got in. I swam 20 laps–because I don't know how to be anything besides an overachiever–and I loved it. Being in the water, remembering the way that swimming engages every fiber of my body, and finally doing what I said I was going to do; I was so proud of myself, it was borderline gross. I felt fantastic. The satisfaction lasted for a couple of minutes before the questions started up again; what if I don't go again, or I do, but it doesn't feel as good? 

I've gone to the pool once a week since that first swim, and each time it feels great and awful at once. My breathing is ragged, my kicking creates more drag that propulsion, and yet, each time I say I'm going to swim and I do, something remarkable happens. I trust myself just the littlest bit more than I did before I trotted over to the pool and sputtered through my laps. 

My inaugural twenty laps had an immediate impact. On my way home from the pool, a client I'd been freelancing for called me to tell me they were going to move forward with another writer. This was a project I'd been excited about. It looked like the exact right opportunity and I was hopeful that it would open a new chapter in my career. The reality had been different, the months I'd worked with them had been stressful and confusing enough that my confidence was a bit dinged up. In the past couple of weeks, I'd been flirting with the notion that even though it seemed like it should be, the job might not be a good fit.

I hung up the phone and let out a big sigh of relief. As I waded through my day, I waited for the shit-talking to start, but the only thing I wanted to talk about–with myself or anyone else–was the swimming. In the weeks that followed, I was sure that I would decide that I'd been rejected by the client, that I'd bombed the assignment. It hasn't happened yet and I think it might be because I've been baby-stepping my way back to believing that I'm worthy of my own trust. Believing that I know the difference between failing at something and not being a fit for it.  

Each time I get in the pool seems like it couldn't make that much of a difference, but I'm finding that it is the very thing that makes all the difference. If I can't trust myself to get in the pool once a week, how will I ever trust myself to tell someone important to me that I'm angry with them, walk away from a job that's not working for me, or disagree with someone more powerful than me? I want to be able to do all of those things, and I'm glad that at this moment, going swimming when I say I'm going to go swimming is the first step to every one of them. How lucky is that? All those birds with one splashy stone.

What's your version of swimming laps–the thing you're doing or not doing to foster self-trust? If you're inclined, drop me a line and let me know.