Lessons From my Swimming Class

[May 5 2023]

I remember having so much fun in the water during my swimming classes as a kid. I jumped and splashed in every direction with careless and playful energy. I was at ease in the water, with no fear at all. But then life happened, and I moved cities without ever completing my swimming program. And I felt out of it the same way some friendships fade out simply because of different life directions. 

And somehow, it never was a big deal. Until I became aware of the increasing gap between my peers and I. Shame slowly took hold of me, and because of that, for any chance given, I always chose sports activities that kept me steady on the ground. I was, by any means, avoiding exposing my incompetence in the water. For the years to come, I swiftly camouflaged the fact that I couldn’t swim every time I found myself at a beach or a pool. And it turns out, I was good at pretending because I don’t think many have noticed.

But last year was the end of it. My boyfriend signed me up for swimming classes; a birthday gift. Quite suitable, I thought, for the transformation I was calling upon my life at the time. 

A new routine quickly took shape. Every Sunday afternoon became dedicated to my swimming classes. I would pack my bag, put music in my ear, and cycle to the location enthusiastically. I went in there naive and curious like beginners usually are -not expecting how much this experience would teach me, besides how to swim, of course.

—

Lies and Blame

I felt confident in my brand-new swimming suit. I knew I would be able to do what our bodies are naturally born knowing how to do in no time. I knew I would be able to embody the element that composes our earth and bodies in a large majority in no time. Water and I were one; I knew it. And although I was learning to swim, I was also to show everyone, teachers and students included, what a great swimmer I was. That´s why any compliments from either the teacher or students were simply confirmation of this fact: I was born a swimmer.  And that’s also why any corrective remarks or comments from teachers were received as a betrayal. I was convinced that I mastered the basic techniques, so, how dare they question me – I thought?! How dare they lower me down?! For sure, these teachers had no idea what they were doing.

For the weeks to come, this was my conclusion. After each class, I came back home frustrated and complained to my boyfriend about it all. I blamed and pointed fingers. I vented with the detachment of someone accustomed to her own pretense.

And yet, from one teacher to another, the verdict was unanimous: my basic skills were weak. The last straw was when the majority of my teammates moved to the next level while I stayed behind.

 I felt exposed with nowhere to hide, including my own mind. The circumstances were forcing me to face reality: the narrative I had built up in my head was a complete lie. My own subterfuge became so comically ridiculous I couldn’t help but explode in laughter.

I had no choice but to surrender to the obvious: I was not as good as I thought. I didn’t have the level to swim in the big water. I was among the worst in my group.

To be forcefully stripped down from the vanity that was clouding my vision was painfully humbling. It was the wake-up call I needed to learn that the desperate lies we tell ourselves can never hide what is. And, blaming and pointing fingers is no shortcuts to the actual work that needs to be done anyway. Lies and blame don’t grant us any special treatment and with them, we never win. And if anything, they keep us static  – feeding an illusion of self we are accustomed to hiding behind and projecting into the world for vain instant gratifications. 

The message was clear and loud, lies and blame are the opposite of growth. 

—

Fast Paced

Breaststroke was a nightmare for me to learn. Despite being the slowest style and the one we spent so much time practicing, it took me what felt like forever to understand each step and learn to coordinate my body accordingly. Nothing about it was intuitive to me. 

That’s maybe because moving fast was my automatic response in the water. As a matter of fact, front crawl, the fastest swimming style of them all, was my favourite. And learning it was a smooth and easy process. Actually, I couldn’t understand why other students were so much more comfortable with slower styles. But I loved it when they looked at me in awe, impressed by my easy flow with the crawl. I was blowing everyone’s minds! I felt like a little girl at school, proud to be the first to give the correct answer to the teacher – happy to be seen. 

As I grew more comfortable with my skills and in the water, it became clear that fast styles were foremost my pretense to good swimming. By moving at a fast pace, I was able to mask the imperfection of my techniques. Because my peers and our society at large mistake speed with quality, it was easier then to get their applause and compliments. It was easier to foul everyone, including myself.

Speed was my zone of comfort in the pool, in life, and in everything I ever knew. My fast movements were fueled by fear, like a gazelle in the animal kingdom running at high speed to save her life. I was scared of dying, which in this case meant being seen with all the flaws and imperfections of my swimming techniques, being declared irrelevant, and being left behind. And that is precisely what happened despite all my attempts to blur the lines.

Life can do that to you sometimes. It will kill your lies and lame excuses so you can see, in all honesty, what stands between you and your success, whatever that is for you.

As I came back to myself on the other side of that wall of illusions, I understood that swimming, like living, does not require exhausting efforts. I realised that intentional slowness is a sign of true confidence and mastery.

 And sometimes, somewhere along the way, as we navigate the humbling waves of life, we end up catching up with each other anyway.

—

Ego

I started this journey with the hidden desire to be the best swimmer in my group. I tried to tone it down and play it cool each time I received a compliment, as if none of that had any effect on me. It was barely perceptible, but there was a form of distance and coldness in my attitude like I was above even being there with everyone in the first place. I was acting as though in my own lane, on my way to the next Olympics. 

So, essentially, the sweet words I received from teachers and other students were simply confirmation of the grandiose vision of self I did not yet have the courage to voice out loud to even myself. This is what both an insatiable craving and unfathomable fear of being seen would do to you. 

It will make you feel like you are moving through life with irreconcilable desires that keep you in a constant state of fragility, even at your most invincible. As if you were both running towards and against love, with your mind and body in a continuous state of exhaustion and frustration – without you ever moving an inch in whatever area of your life you are trying to focus on.

 For a while, that loud and uncanny dissonance was my illusion of movement and safety. In that state, no amount of love, however pure and wholesome, could ever reach my core. No amount of life goodness, in all its forms, ever felt satisfying, nourishing, or fulfilling. I was in a loop trap, a bottomless pit where nothing felt enough. 

So, the compliments I was getting from my peers and teachers only stayed on the surface level of my being. That love in that pool and from other places in my life would ricochet into my shell and feed into my fragile ego, that illusion of movement that would make me look at and hear people without ever really seeing or truly listening to them. 

As ridiculous as it is, for those of us on our journey towards love, that ego-fuelled illusion can be a necessary step to strengthen ourselves. That illusion can be part of learning to take space, owning our power, and becoming aware of the grandiosity of who we are and the infinite possibilities at hand. 

But life, as I have learned by now, doesn’t sustain itself on smoke and mirrors. It will break you open and humble you down until you have no choice but to look within and let love in. 

—

It is what it is: Most things we didn’t learn as kids, we eventually need to integrate as grown-ups—and usually, the hard way. Not at all because of a more complicated process, but mostly because our ego is often in the way.

But as we dare ourselves to embark on that journey, a world of light and wonders will reveal itself to us. It is ourselves we become on that road.