June 10, 2018 § Leave a comment
It wasn’t the perfect morning for a swim.
The clouds moved in as soon as I stepped outside, blue-gray and portending rain. The sun became a pale circle impotent of warmth, then was swallowed completely.
Knowing storms were forecast for the rest of the day, I dove in anyway. The water hovered at 80 degrees F, about the same temperature as the air.
Minutes after I levered myself onto a floating lounger, the first light drops pelted my face, my chest. I heard my neighbor curse and start his lawnmower. It rattled to life and soon I could smell cut grass and the unique tang of small-engine exhaust.
I’d hoped to drift away from the world and bake in the sun and forget about everything for a half hour. Instead, I had a chill breeze and rain and noise and smoke.
I almost got out of the pool after just a few minutes. I almost gave up and went inside to hope for more ideal conditions later.
But the water was warm enough, and the wind’s breath wasn’t too cold, and when my neighbor moved far enough off, I could listen to the patter of the drizzle on the surface of the pool.
It was peaceful, feeling the rain on my face and hearing it dance on the water. If I’d waited for the perfect time to swim, I wouldn’t have gotten to experience it.
It wasn’t the perfect morning to swim. There’s rarely a perfect time for anything—uncomfortable conversations, asking someone out, changing jobs, following your dreams. Sometimes, you just have to dive in under less than ideal conditions and make the best of it.
Maybe you flounder. Maybe the water’s too cold and the sky’s too gray, and you flee back to the house. Or maybe you find something to buoy you up, even if it’s just a thin sheet of plastic mesh and a couple of air bladders.
Maybe it’s not so bad after all, and you can rest a moment and listen to the world come down around you.
You won’t know until you dive in.
Photo Credit: David Borcherding, Copyright 2018