Still water lay beneath a heavy sky crowded with grey clouds, the air damp and mean like the sharp grab of snow down your neck on a winter’s day.
I was not feeling kind or generous or hopeful, just dull and bleak like the view before me this afternoon as I arrived at the beach.
All I knew to do was head to the water’s edge again, maybe there I might find a slice of lightness and relief from all that weighed me down. Or all that I let weigh me down. Perhaps it is both.
Sometimes the darkness is unavoidable.
On a whim, I tossed my swimsuit, towel and a headlamp into a mesh bag, and with my dog in tow—or maybe the other way around—we walked the half mile to the landing.
I spent most of the walk looking at the slate grey sky and naked branches, a chill down my neck, thinking that it was highly unlikely I’d actually swim.
I was so low energy that just the thought of getting into my wetsuit made me tired, so I settled for just bringing my swim suit—this way I could swim in the remaining daylight, modestly, if I really wanted to.
At the beach we steered south, my black and white pup wagging head to toe with glee, hopelessly tethered to the moment and whatever odors passed by his black snout.
I was jealous. What I would give to be blissfully ignorant of the endless trials and disasters of the past and present that us humans pile upon ourselves every day. Lucky dogs only know mindfulness—their entire existence is bonded only to the present moment. What a gift.
A lone heron stood at the waters’ edge, his legs and body unmoving, more shades of grey filling this dark November palette, ready to launch at any moment above the silent water.
We neared him and like a sudden breath he rose up, wings wide, hushed flapping and a squawk to announce his departure. Landing on a buoy to the north of us, he settled in, effortlessly balancing while my shoes slipped and slid noisily over damp rocks.
We passed the last house and reached a fallen tree jutting out over the beach. My indecision on whether to take a dip grew and I debated whether it was worth the effort, the inevitable discomfort of ice water around me.
I wasn’t feeling strong, quite the contrary. But the water was so still, and I had been thoughtful enough to bring a towel. I reasoned that it might brighten my spirits and I even had a four-legged lifeguard with me for the first time.
The water won. Again. She was ready for me.
High up the beach, among some leafy branches I stripped down and pulled on my red suit.
The water and air may have been about the same temperature, or so it seemed—Fahrenheit freezing.
I waded in and breathed deep, bracing for the mounting cold to seep in. The one plus side of not wearing a wetsuit was there was no delay in feeling the cold, waiting for the water to seep in past the zipper, or down the neck hole. The immediacy of the cold water’s arrival seized my brain and all thoughts ceased. This was what I had hoped for. It worked.
My legs went numb fairly quickly—acclimating surprisingly fast—and as my toes mounted their quiet revolt I took a few more loud breaths, squeezed my eyes shut and dove under. Popping back up I could see my furry companion standing at attention near the water’s edge, having paused his thorough study of the beach’s banquet of smells to keep a keen one-eyed watch over his mistress.
I paddled, head above the water, in one more little circle, and heard a splash behind me just as I turned my back away from the shore.
Eyes wide open and my skin dancing from the chill, I stepped out of the water much to Rocky’s delight. With his lifeguarding job done, his mistress now in arms reach and safely onshore, he dashed in circles and skidded up the beach prancing and smiling as only a dog knows how.
His world was in order, and now my world felt a little more in order too. Pleased with myself for getting in, however briefly, lessoned the weight. I got in the water, and found a piece of myself that had come loose. The water brought it back.
They say dogs feel our emotions, are in tune to their humans. Maybe it’s magical thinking, or maybe it’s true, but my dog danced when I exited the water.
Perhaps he felt my happiness breaking through the slate grey within me.
Either way, I’m glad I took a dip. And I’m really glad I had my one-eyed wonder dog for company.
He’s got some more lessons for me on mindfulness, and living—and swimming—in the moment.
Mary Swims 
🎀🎉🌹💦🌹🎉🎀