There’s no life guard on duty here.
And I suppose it’s alright since nobody seems to be swimming—except for maybe my neighbor, Dave. He always finds his way back in, snow and rain and arctic blasts be damned.
I myself have been feeling a bit soft of late honestly, but felt the longing to swim again yesterday as I rowed my neglected rowboat, coated in mud and barnacles, to the landing and hauled it from the Salish Sea in the company of two four-legged’s and my friend, Erin.
Two seals eyed us from the still water, cruising serenely around in their home, unruffled and seemingly unimpressed by our arrival, reminding me of what I was missing and helping me recall a dream I had the other night—about two seals.
In my dream I was walking down a metal gangplank near the ferry dock and reached my hand down to pet two spotted seals that swam parallel the dock, their glistening wet backs silky and soft. Their bodies were a light grey like the Pacific NW sky, with dark spots all along their streamlined bodies, black pebbles in wet sand. I reached out to feel their backs with my fingertips, and they hovered there, looking back at me with eyes as black as night.
The rest of my dream was chaotic snd disjointed, stressful. Only the memory of the seals in my dream stayed fixed and firm, the one sweet relatable part of my dream that I was determined to cling to like a life raft.
I woke happy. And made my husband hear about my seals. He smiled.
Today I had half hoped to swim in the sea, but found myself instead driving to the local pool. I didn’t find any seals there, but I did find a couple lifeguards. And a few old pool friends that I hadn’t seen since the before Covid times.
It was my first swim in a pool since January of 2020. The water was as mild and chlorinated as I expected, and like my few lake swims this past year entirely free of jellyfish, barnacles and seaweed. My eyes followed the even pattern of light along the pool bottom, as I relearned flip turns and let myself enjoy the easy work of swimming in a big hole in the ground carved and heated by my own species.
I was so grateful. For the warmth, the quiet company of my fellow swimmers, the amazing engineering feats of humans to build such things as swimming pools and a chance to move around in my favorite medium—water.
As I counted my laps, my mind a whirl thinking about my first year open water swimming, I fought the feeling that I was somehow a traitor. Was I leaving the natural world behind? Turning my back on the sea? And would there be a story to tell?
As foolish as this may sound, swimming laps in the pool felt strangely foreign and familiar all at once, and I was relieved when I realized that like so many things in life, I don’t have to choose. I can do both. And there are delights to be found in both of these watery holes. One is just much, much bigger.
The lap swim hours at the pool continue to be very limited due to staffing shortages, leaving the window for these swims much more constraining than working around the tides and my part time work schedules. Again I find myself endlessly thankful for the wide open lanes and 24/7 access to the Salish Sea, not to mention the price.
There are no lifeguards out there, only millions of creatures bubbling and crawling and diving and spouting, drifting and breaching, burrowing and reproducing.
At the pool the creatures around me were all the same, human, just like me. All of those months and months swimming in the sea have changed the way I think about my relationship to other beings.
It’s funny how it took me going out (usually alone), to swim in the sea before I came to appreciate how much alike we humans really are. And how much miss I’ve missed my pool companions too.
After my swim I soaked for a few minutes in the jacuzzi, striking up an easy conversation with a kind middle aged woman. She was very intrigued with my open water swimming habit, and I extended an invitation to try it with me sometime. Perhaps she will.
I looked about the giant space, where people of all shapes and sizes milled about in clear liquid finding their bodies and themselves, their own rhythms and borders, flesh rippling water, water holding flesh.
The beauty at the pool was not the same beauty of rocks and clouds and waves reflecting light and distant mountains and salty creatures that collide in the open water of the Salish Sea.
But there was a beauty and hope I felt for humanity at the pool, where strangers made friends with strangers, old ladies stood naked in the showers telling stories, sharing sorrows and joys, utterly at home in their wrinkled skin and sagging breasts, strong and powerful, their spirits lifted by water, their watery camaraderie reminding me that we humans really need each other. More than ever. And there is so much love between us.
As I left the pool today I asked the lifeguard on duty about the limited hours. “Yeah, we need more lifeguards,” she explained.
I thought about all of my time out there with no lifeguard, my confidence and good luck, swimming alone. I felt sadness for all of the people who can’t swim now as the hours are just too short, and all the people looking for swim lessons who can’t find a class because there is also a shortage of teachers.
On my way out the door I impulsively asked for an application.
I don’t know yet if this is the right path for me, but as I think about swimming and all that it has given me, I wonder if this might be the right next step.
Outside the bay sits an empty chair, just like at the pool after hours.
I don’t know yet if either has my name on it, but either way, I’ll keep swimming past those chairs and keep sharing what I’ve learned, and showing my love, however I can.
Mary Swims 