I read a story awhile back about a very sad, depressed woman. She felt all alone, like a castaway out at sea, adrift in a boat—no compass, no direction, no companions. Her therapist replied, “You are the boat and the sea. You are both.”
Today I visited the water twice. First from land, with my youngest son and our dog. Rocky practically pulled us off our feet on our way there when he realized that we were taking him to the beach. He lives to swim too. So do both of my sons.
Our dog’s enthusiasm to submerge in the cool water matched my own, but my swim came much later in the day.
As Anders and I took turns hurling a tennis ball out over the waves for Rocky to retrieve, we both smiled with delight watching this furry boy dash out until his paws barely touched, then tentatively transition to floating and paddle with all his might to reach his goal. Sometimes he would turn back, deterred by the distance or the waves, a sign of uncertainty. Caution. Often with a gentle command and soft encouragement he’d turn back and try again.
His cautiousness keeps him safe, and his enthusiasm keeps him trying again despite the fear. The instinct to survive is hard wired in all beings. But I think to survive, we need beyond caution and constant planning to survive a drive to experience delight, in whatever form that may be.
Today was a serious day for me, and it was this beach visit and my swim
later on that reminded me how important play is to survival.
Rocky most assuredly experienced delight splashing in the water today—Anders and I delighted in watching him.
After three swims in a row, I thought I should take the day off….
and yet… I knew the bay lay waiting under a full day beneath the cozy sun. Chances were good that with little wind and only a few paddlers, the top few inches would be lovely warm. And they were.
At 5:38pm I found myself stretching into my suit.
“Just going for a quick dip,” I told Josh.
He looked at me with my goggles and cap in hand.
“You’re going for a swim. You’ll be awhile. Have fun,” he replied with a grin.
“Yes. Thanks. You’re probably right.”
I took my familiar path to the shady start. The sun soon would be below the trees. It was calm and still.
I scrambled down the roots and stepped in through the glassy surface.
As I headed out I recalled swimming in the pool during my pregnancies with both sons. I remember feeling like a ship, with my precious cargo carried along inside. It was a good feeling.
I think I am the woman, the ship and the sea.
Seeking delight.
Finding delight.
Mary Swims 