Exuma Cays, The Bahamas. To be truthful, the best part of summer swimming lessons was the bowls of ramen noodles waiting for us at home. They were steamy and salty–an antidote to the chilly, chlorinated water in the neighborhood pool. We’d crowd around them at the kitchen table, damp towels over our shoulders, grinning and slurping.
A close second were the shimmering ribbons of bent sunlight running across the plaster pool surface. As I counted the seconds without air, head dutifully submerged, they wrapped around me, dancing over my dimpled toes and fingers. To my eight-year-old eyes, the sunny kaleidoscope was pure magic. It was also my reward for going under because going under was the hardest part.
I was the oldest of my siblings, the only girl. I played it cool–really cool–but dunking my head beneath the water took nerve each and every time. It was sort of like the feeling you get when jumping rope with friends and it’s your turn to hop in. You know how to do it and how it will feel, but your mind and legs are at an impasse. You wait and wait for the right time, the right beat, the right breath. You bob back and forth, up and down, waiting for it. Waiting for it. The right moment never comes.
So you build the nerve to just do it, overriding inhibition, maybe taking in a little water as you go. You’re in. First the mouth and nose, then the ears. The cool water inches over your scalp, relieving it of the weight of your ponytail. That moment when the water finally closes in over you brings finality, shutting out everything above with a fluid clap. You enter the water world with its muffled sound, trippy buoyancy, and light. Rocking in the water’s movement, you feel alone, completely unbothered.
Water conjures so many metaphors for me. On certain days, I try to channel its qualities.
It’s silly, I know, but every morning, I decide whether the day will be a water day. Quite simply, these are days that call for refracting others’ energy; flowing through conflict; influencing by presence, not force; asserting myself through quiet, stillness, and depth. Regrettably, not all days can be water days. Some require are more solid, forceful approach. But water days are my favorite. I’m getting better at creating them.