As I float along on my back, blissfully distracted from life's uncertainties by puffy clouds and blue sky, my mind wanders to earlier days when I was young and had no time limit on floating. I loved to swim. It seemed as if I had always known how to swim, like the water was a natural extension of my own being. Swimming lessons were boring and seemed unneccessary. However, I do recall a time when I was pushing myself to swim underwater. My father suggested he be the target, I should pick a postition in the pool to make it to, and he would stand there to act as the marker. My lungs filled with air as I prepared for my plummet. Down into the water I went, and pushed off from the side wall with my small wrinkled feet. Underwater, my eyes locked tight on the distant, blurry shadow of Dad's hairy belly, I knew I could make it. But just as I reached him, arms outstretched and desperate for breath, he took a step back! In his way I think he was trying to teach me I could push myself harder than I knew possible. I wonder if that was the lesson I took away with me that day? Pushing myself is something I do with frequency. On the other hand, I also get fed up quickly when the target won't stay still. Hmpf.
I lift my head out of my floating daydream and awaken back into the reality of the energetic public pool all around me. "Cannonbaaaall!" is shouted somewhere off to my right, and my trip down memory lane is washed out by a giant wave and water in my eyes. Rubbing my vision clear, I look across the pool, there is Randy, laughing with our children, teaching our daughter to swim. She does not quite grasp the floating yet, so far just a lot of flailing and sinking, all with with a very determined expression. I smile at them. "Mommy! Come here! I am swimming!"
Gliding across the pool, the water feels smooth and refreshing. It is clear and brilliant in the afternoon light. I approach my family and watch as my daughter shows off her new found skills. She actually has the kicking part down pretty well, but her hands and feet are working against each other. I put my right arm around her back, allowing me to hold her hands so that I can help her with the paddling. Her hands are small, and fit under my own curved palms like the stacking cups she had as a baby. We push the water down together with strong slow strokes. I tell her to feel the water pressure against her hands, and to push the water down with purpose. She chants at each stroke, "With purpose! With purpose!" And then, magically, she is swimming! I let go, and she is off on her own, flying across the pool as though she has done it all her life! She is ecstatic, and glowing. Today, she believes in her heart that she can do anything. I think she might be right.
