Going Under

I've started swimming again and it is amazing. I love going under, feeling the liquid meet my face and flow over my skin. I love moving through the water, stretching my body, feeling I am a fiddlehead fern. I unfurl my leafy head, stretching along my lats, elongating all the muscles from my tummy to the reach of my fingertip fronds. I grow even beyond my reach as my hips turn, eking out millimeters to scoop more water, to be longer, smoother, more efficient and relaxed. It requires patience to let every last fiddle frond unfurl. To allow the last snippet of length to be had before turning my head for that sweet breath of O2 and resurgence into sunlight.

I have loved going under.

I think of the metaphorical meaning of "going under," and how people aspire to resurface, to breathe again. I am currently "under" and I do not love it. I am worried about a former student who is fighting for his life, another student whose family is fighting poverty, and about my relationship. I feel under it all and I really, really want clear answers and a path out for all of them - and me. It sends me into a tailspin, a place in my mind where I regurgitate old information, gobble it up, and try to digest it anew. It's as disgusting as it sounds.

I have to take a lesson from swimming. Instead of thrashing, I have to allow the fronds to unfurl. I have to remain calm and trust the process of patient, steady eking. I have done what I can do for the families and will continue to do so. I have thought through and talked through my relationship. But there is more... I have to wait and allow for events to unfold, for all the fronds to unfurl. I have to allow that water in my face - the flow of life and events and relationships. I have to allow the discomfort and the worry. And when I can - when all the fonds have unfurled - I can turn my head for my portion of sunlight and O2.