Well, hello there. How many of you knew, when I said I was taking a month off from this newsletter, that it would actually be two? I didn’t, but I needed the break, so no apologies here.
Most of my January was total crap, except for one small bright spot: I am finally learning how to swim.
I’ve always found it funny how my parents—who both escaped China during the Cultural Revolution by SWIMMING to Hong Kong—never got around to teaching me this important life skill. But then again, I now know that trying to teach your own children anything that actually matters to you is a road to folly, ending only in resentment and tears.
When I was eight, we did have swimming lessons in school, but I was recovering from an ear infection and had to sit out. And when the next scheduled swimming opportunity came around in Grade 10, there was a citywide teacher’s strike and our lessons were cancelled.
Nearly 20 years ago, still full youth and optimism, I took an adult beginners’ class, but the instructor spent most of his time working with another lady who was truly afraid of the water, so I came away with the ability to float—something you don’t even need to be alive to do—but not much more than that.
It’s never too late to try again, though, unless you’re sleeping with the fishes. So I’ve decided 2023 will be the year I swim.
A few weeks ago, I dug out my totally utilitarian swimsuit, which I hadn’t looked at in years, and put it on.
Now we all know from television that “middle-aged woman plus swimsuit plus mirror” is a supposedly harrowing experience, but this isn’t that story. It fit ok. I felt ok. I’m not winning any swimsuit competitions, but I am surprisingly at peace with my body after all these years and even thought I looked sort of cute in my decidedly unstylish suit. I was wearing it for myself and nobody else.
At the pool, after showing the instructor my front and back floats, I was still feeling ok. Until she suggested I try jumping in the pool—something I’d never done before. I climbed out and walked over to the deeper end, then stood on the pool deck, heart pounding.
“Put your toes closer to the edge,” she said, totally unhelpfully.
So I shuffled forward a bit and looked down. I have no clue what my face was doing, but she eventually asked if I wanted a countdown. “Alright,” I said, still unsure if I’d actually be able to force myself to jump.
“3…”
I thought about how embarrassed I would be if I didn’t do it. But also about how much I didn’t want to do it.
“2…”
Then I thought about all the terrifying things life asks of us every single day. All the brave and impossible actions that being a person in the world requires. How hard it is to get out of bed sometimes, to face what you have to face. To know you must move forward when all you want is to give up.
Compared to everything, this was nothing.
“1…”
I jumped.
It made a splash, and I got water up my nose, and I couldn’t see anything, but then the instructor grabbed my arm and helped me over to the side of the pool.
“You did great,” she said, giving me a high five.
“Now let’s do it a few more times.”
:) Teresa
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I really love this piece. It's beautiful.
I can’t swim either. Tried to learn a few times but the most I can manage is a side-stroke where I don’t have to coordinate my breathing. Since we live 2 miles from the ocean now, I took my daughter to get professional swimming lessons when she was 3 and it worked! She even tried synchronized swimming for a year and water polo for a year where they have to tread water forever. Maybe someday I will try again. Good luck!