Not quite a mermaid

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The rubber of my swim fins is stiff against my instep, no matter how often I struggle into them. It’s almost pleasant, this feeling of being squeezed into a shape that fish – and mermaids – always, already have. Sliding off the edge, mask on and my head submerged, the water flows over me, around me. This is the best part of my day, this moment when I leave land behind and become part of something more primal.

The analytical part of my brain that noticed and rebelled at the pervasive smell of chlorine, the echoes off the tiles, the people, is quiet now – tucked out of sight. I just swim. Up and down, counting breaths, counting laps. Nothing matters. Everything matters. Here in this safe space, my body is weightless, it doesn’t remember to ache, it doesn’t care about the wants/needs of others (real or perceived), or any of the other things that clutter up my head for the rest of the day.

Sometimes it feels as though this time in the water is all I need to keep me on this earth, giving me room to just ‘be’ – to ruminate randomly and let my brain sort through whatever pops up. Today I wonder vaguely about goal setting. Is there a point to it at this stage of life? On the other hand, I’m not at all sure that rolling out of bed and just shambling through life one step at a time is much more than marking time. Perhaps goal setting is like having a plan? I conclude it doesn’t have to be a big or significant or shiny plan; it’s more about giving shape to the hours and days – particularly once retirement has happened, children have left home, etc.

Perhaps I’m confusing day planning, which is about structure, and goal setting, which is aspirational? I swim on, contemplating this and other drifting thoughts. Is this what yogis try to teach – finding a pathway to a meditative space of acceptance and release?

Finally my body tells me it’s time. I’ve swum 1500m today, which for me is pretty good, but my shoulders have started to ache and my toes to cramp ever so slightly in their rubber paddles. These things remind me that I’m a creature of the land. It’s time to shuck the fins and get back out there.