It’s probably the closest I get to meditation. Swimming. The thing about water, you can’t bring anything. No phones or connections to the world whatsoever. Just you and your thoughts. And even they can weigh you down. So I try to push them out with the counting of each lap. They are slippery though — they can fin their way in — with invented conversations, arguments even, completely fabricated. Even my arms will say, “c’mon, enough already”…wiggling fingers that urge the return to pulling water. It takes quite a few strokes, but I always get there. Into the rhythm. Soon my breath and arms and legs are in sync, and the numbers begin disappearing, so quickly I wonder if I actually counted that lap, and I do it again. I imagine it’s like a dancer, who finally learns the routine and can just let go into the dance. That’s my brain in the pool. Buoyant upon the sun-ripe ripples. Floating. Carried. Dancing between the two blues of sky and water. Weightless of what-ifs, just simply being.
I highly recommend it — this letting go. And maybe for you it’s not in the pool, but on the road, or in the garden, in a book, or within a song. It could be anywhere you are able to release the baggage. When I get stuck, dragging the day’s luggage, I imagine myself in the water, satcheled with such. And I laugh. I don’t imagine we were meant to carry any of it. Except maybe joy. Nothing is lighter. Go ahead and carry that with you. Everywhere.
