A Wet Death Threat
Re-Recollection
1954
I stare into the gaping maw of the pool, sporting a bright pink, ruffle-skirted, never-been-wet bathing suit and matching cap — a perfectly feigned model of 9-year-old composure, dignity and self-confidence. Everywhere but in my head.
What made me think I could do this?
As if in answer to the question, the comforting image of my father takes shape. Cigarette in one hand, storybook in the other, he’s perched on the edge of my chenille bedspread reading The Little Engine That Could.
OK, maybe I CAN do this. Of course, I can do this. Why is the water so dark at the other end?
“Boom!” The starter gun explodes and my mother shouts, “Don’t think about how deep it is!”
I’m the last one in but immediately take the lead. (Speed has always been my strong suit). Halfway to the finish line, I lift my head, see no one in front of me and dare to begin to hope that with the help of that little engine, I might be able to pull this off.
That’s when I notice it.
Turning to take a much-needed breath before my final surge to victory, I spot the black, upper-case, alpha-numeric death threat posted on the inside of the pool: “6FT”. Even without a tape measure, I know I’m shorter than that. But I’m still leading the race. The finish line is straight ahead. My sister is screaming “Go! Go! Go!” The chlorinated aroma of victory is in the air.
But all I feel is a million gallons of water bearing down on my ruffles. In fact, it was that very pressure, that frightening force, that impelling impetus that gave me the determination and drive, the strength and resolve, the hope and confidence to execute a perfect U-turn and arrive back at the starting point in time to hear my sister shout, “Jeez, Lindy! If you’d just kept going, you’d a won the race!”
I share this mortifying revelation not because my self-esteem is sturdy enough to re-live the ignominy, but because my sister has repeated the story so many times that it stopped stinging somewhere around 2010. I’m also sharing it because it’s one of the countless anecdotes that help explain everything that came after.
Wise Ask: Where would you be today if you’d kept swimming?
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CATEGORY DEFINITIONS:
Re-Recollection: A brief, occasionally edited recounting of an event or situation.
Rude Awakening: A short piece of writing describing a sudden awareness or discovery that causes a change in perception.
Rabid Rant: A brief diatribe on a single topic, often characterized by strong and passionate language.
Perhaps the best thing you did that day, and maybe something we should all consider, is when the water feels too deep, or there is something frightening, or threatening that we experience, and we don’t feel safe, STOP SWIMMING, and get the hell out of the water!
Instead, dressed in my little pink tutu through life, I was “That Guy”, who kept swimming, often in life successfully reaching the “desired/required destination” I had set out to reach – the place I was told by others, or a misinformed inner voice, that I was supposed to reach. Often it was the wrong destination, for all the wrong reasons. Not there! Not for me!
These many decades later I’m still learning when it makes sense to just Stop. Sit still. Be quiet. Breathe and don’t move. Get out of the pool.
When we sense a threat, or even a subtle rumbling sense of dissatisfaction in our belly, a lack of clarity, or fulfillment, a lack of purpose…Or when we’re feeling completely out of whack because we are not living in alignment with the things that matter most to us, and when we sense that this may not be the right place, or the right time for us. …Or we’re in this for all the wrong reasons, pay attention! Stop swimming. Instead win another far more important race, which is living within integrity, and honesty, remaining open to the unfolding of the life that is yours to live, instead of trying to win one of these stupid prizes that other people say we should be living.