“We dare to jump so we can see something new.
And sometimes we do it to recover a sense of what we once had.”
In August 2022, I wrote about my new swimming habit in one of my Lotus & Pen newsletters. Because it was one of the highlights of this past year—and something I enjoyed writing about immensely—I’m posting it here as a source of motivation for any of you who feel like it’s time to revise a limiting belief you have about yourself.
What follows is a tale of...
synchronicity
serendipity
the power of accountability
overcoming limited beliefs
lineage
Swimming is something I never, not in a million years, thought I'd be able to do, no matter how much I talked about wanting to do it. To me, I might as well as said I was going to be an astronaut someday. (I just write about them).
But, as you'll see in the text to a few of my gal pals below, I contain multitudes! (And so do you).
None of us expected this text to be written, least of all me! I want to tell you the story of how I got there because I have a sneaking suspicion that some of you need to hear it.
If you're in the shallows of your writing life and you're damn tired of it, then here is my first question: Are you listening to what the world is throwing at you?
Here is my experience of how signs from the universe became increasingly noisy and obvious - it's not about writing, but....isn't it?
I've wanted to be a swimmer for years, but I had two small problems: I am irrationally afraid of swimming pools (seriously) and I don't like being cold or wet. You would think this would forever deter a girl from jumping in pools first thing in the morning, wouldn't you?
I kid you not, people - there was a downright conspiracy to get me in the water. The serendipities and synchronicities and hints kept piling up so that I simply could not ignore them anymore.
1. Early summer: I start thinking, yet again, about how I wish I could be a swimmer. But the story I tell myself is that I am afraid. Pools are scary. And I like to be warm and cozy and not leave my house. I live in Minnesota! Who becomes a swimmer here? (Apparently, I found out, a lot of people). Thing is, I've tried everything else, and it all hurts my joints. BUT POOLS ARE SCARY. And yet, here's a fun fact: MN has more coastline than California, Hawaii, and Florida combined. It is the land of 10,000 lakes. I am SURROUNDED by water.
2. I'm listening to an audiobook about war reporters and, when I finish, Overdrive suggests a book I'd never heard of: Why We Swim by Bonnie Tsui. That's weird.
3. The next week, I tell my friends I'm thinking about swimming, but they assure me that will never happen. I agree (I mean, let's be real, I am a cat stuck in a human body), but by the time I got home, I felt a little fired up about proving them wrong. I wanted to be strong, to be the kind of person that would do the thing - not just pine for it and talk about it. I wanted the physical discipline of the athletes in my family, the same discipline I had as a child when I was a competitive figure skater. The same discipline I apply to my writing...but which has mysteriously slipped off the tracks (re: summer, health, etc.) But I couldn't do it...could I?
4. I make an appointment to check out a gym - it doesn't have a pool. But it comes highly recommended and, anyway, I know me: I'm not a swimmer. That's for people who can get out of bed when it's snowing outside, knowing they're going to be in cold water before the sun is fully up. That's for people who, unlike me, aren't twisted around the finger of their fear and ruled by their inner critic, who assures me I look terrible in a swimsuit.
5. But THEN, one of my husband's Zen mentors comes to the house for a visit. This Zen priest, out of nowhere, starts talking about how she used to swim and wants to get back to it. She says we should have an accountability pact. WHAT. This also happens to be the teacher I have been secretly wanting to work with for my Zen practice. Now we have a really interesting point of connection, and, of all things, it's swimming! This conversation gives me the courage to sign up for dokusan with her (a meeting with a Zen teacher). I've been Zen for a while, but was nervous to have 1:1 meetings with the teachers (even though I've had many sit-downs with teachers from the other lineages I'd explored). But..now it feels right. I feel ready. But, of course I'm not going to swim. That was just a coincidence. She didn't really mean that thing about a pact...did she? Maybe, just maybe, swimming could be part of my Zen practice. And it'd be a great way to prep for morning writing sessions and court flow. Literally. Hmmmmm....
6. The next day, my neighbor randomly says she joined the Y that day and had just come back from her first water aerobics class. There were spots open all the time. This woman is not a swimmer. She just felt...compelled. And, anyway, she'd thought I might like it. WHAT THE WHAT. The message was clear: I had to swim. Here was the accountability I needed, someone who literally lives next to me and will get my ass in the car and take me there. She will be the motivation and inspiration, offer the ease of going to a place that is waaaaay out of my comfort zone (and hers). She could hold my hand. We could hold each other's. (This is the same neighbor I walk with on winter mornings, when it's below zero. Get a neighbor who is a librarian and gets your bum in gear and also brings the books you have on hold straight to your door).
7. The next day, I pull a card, asking my deck what energy I would need to metabolize the spiritual experiences I'm having: I get PISCES. You got it - the water sign, also my rising sign. I mean, the tarot always gives it to me straight. It may as well have said, GIRL GET IN THE DAMN POOL. * (the expansion pack of the Spacious Tarot)
8. Yesterday I went to the pool. I got in the water. I came, I saw, I melted. And I didn't even realize it was new moon season until after I got out of water. New beginnings.
At 6:45 am I slipped into the pool and found my way to the center lane.
It felt like coming home.
The teacher never showed up, so the class was cancelled - but my friend and I did slow laps and tread water and laughed at ourselves. I felt safe - she was there, and warm early morning light streamed through huge windows. The drains didn't freak me out, and the little pennants hanging above the water were so cheerful. Older ladies huddled in a nearby pool, doing dance moves and laughing. I favored the backstroke, listening to the deep sound of my breath as my body slid through the water. Gazing at the ceiling as I flowed down the lane, restored to that same girl who used to get up at 4:30 in the morning and lace up her skates in a cold ice rink. Which is water in frozen form. Huh. Never thought of that before. I was still her. I could do this. I was doing this.
By the time I finished toweling off, I was on a high, filled with energy and joy. And I was SO DAMN PROUD OF MYSELF.
I don't know if I would have done this without my friend or all those signs, or the boost of "I'll show them" when my girlfriends doubted me (I love you girls - I know you are very familiar with my need for ultimate coziness and warmth - I doubted me, too).
I'm grateful to all of that, and mostly to the water, which welcomed me back with (surprisingly warm) open arms.
“
For many swimmers, the act of swimming is a tonic, in that old-fashioned sense of the word: it is a restorative, a stimulant, undertaken for a feeling of vigor and well-being. The word tonic comes from the Greek tonikos, “of or for stretching.”
”
Swimming is in my lineage. It is the tonic many of my ancestors have used to stretch their courage, one stroke at a time.
My paternal great-grandfather, Michael Demetrios (above), was a Greek merchant marine. In WWI his ship was torpedoed by the Germans and he was nursed back to health in the UK by a Welsh nurse. This woman would become my great-grandmother. Together, they came to the US and ran a bar called Mike's in Galveston, Texas - right by the sea. Doesn’t he look great up there? Man I wish I could have hung out at that place. I’m also dying to know what the sign behind his head said.
During prohibition, a gangster family took his bar from him (rum-running was big business down there), but sold it back to him for $1 once Prohibition was lifted. (Of course I have to write the novelization of their romance).
My grandfather, Michael Demetrios II, would swim up and down the coast of Galveston every morning - sharks in that warm Gulf of Mexico water be damned! He met my grandmother in Galveston, where she was a Texan beauty queen who looked smokin' hot in a swimsuit.
I learned to swim in those waters.
One summer, when my dad was back from rehab, he took me out past the sandbars. I don't remember how old I was, but little enough to cling to him, my tiny fingers gripping the arm with his Marine tattoo of a Devil Dog. I was scared, but I wanted to be brave for this dad I rarely saw, who had gone to a war and came back with sad eyes. He showed me how to swim in salt. He held his large, tan hand under my back and taught me how to float. I loved having the ocean rush into my ears and tell me secrets. I loved having a dad, however briefly, keep me from drowning.
These days, a war and addiction and many other things have carved a gulf between us. But he taught me to float on whatever the current brings, and I'm grateful for that.
My grandmother - his mother, the beauty queen - taught me how to ride waves, and it was in Texan pools that I learned how to do the four main strokes. "That's real good, Heather! Look at you!" (You have to read this with a very Texan accent).
On the other side of the family, my maternal grandmother was an Olympic-swimming hopeful, but had to quit at a young age due to a serious heart problem. But she never stopped getting in the water. It calls to her, too.
And now we're back to me.
The ocean has called to me my whole life, so much so that there have been times when I wanted to just keep walking, past the dunes, the breakers, and right in over my head. A siren song.
Is this surprising? I am Greek, after all. That blood in me knows the waters well.
Me, in Rhodos, Greece (2019)
So why am I telling you this story, my dear writer?
Maybe not everyone needs to hear this today, but I know some of you do:
It's scary to make a change, to do something that you know in your heart is what you need - even when it seems like there are so many reasons to say no. But I can tell you from the other side that it is GLORIOUS to say yes.
I feel more me than I have in a long time. I've gotten that daring part back, the one who leaps before she looks because she KNOWS that the water will hold her.
The one with beginner's mind who doesn't care how she looks doing the thing, but who is curious and eager to learn and grow. And this makes me feel so incredibly powerful. I've been feeling weak for so long due to chronic pain and now I don't just whisper "I am strong," to remind myself: I feel strong.
If you're longing to get serious about your writing, overcome some kind of stuck-ness, or need support getting to the next level with your practice and craft, then the best advice I can give is to find someone who will hold you accountable, cheer you on, and offer support.
I'd love to be that person.
I've worked with so many writers who were scared of the deep end of the writing pool.
They were certain something terrible - or at least their inner critic - would come out of that drain and suck them down into a black hole. They thought that writing was for other people. They believed their limiting beliefs. And they gave in to the voices that told them to give up. Worse still, they broke the promises they made to themselves to make more time for writing. They kept picking up books, but never writing them.
With these writers, the work we did became a tonic, in the Greek sense: it gave them the courage and tools and self-knowledge to expand, to stretch.
During our creative season, they realized that the water felt just fine, that they actually did know how to swim, and that they might even be ready for the high-dive.
(This is obviously the metaphor that keeps on giving. I will try to restrain myself in the future...but not quite yet. It's too fun!)
So, are you ready for the deep end of your writing practice? I have floaties, if you need them. ☺️
Three Months Later….
Yep, that’s a picture of an early morning swim here in Minnesota!
I actually love snowy swim days because those big windows you see there are where the pool is, so every time I look up from the water I see snowflakes swirling past.
Because of health issues, it’s been a struggle to get to the pool as often as I want, but most weeks I make it at least twice.
I took a strokes class and finally learned Butterfly, but I still love backstroke most. Every time I do the breast stroke, I think of my grandmother - it was her favorite.
My father’s mother, Mimi, passed away in October. It was time—she was in her nineties and ready to transition into whatever wonders await her. I hope there’s a good beach where she’s at because she loved getting in the water. She was the one who taught me how to swim, alongside my dad.
I got in the water the day after she died and swam for her.
We weren’t close, but she left me with this unexpected gift and, strangely, I feel closer to her now than in life.
I can’t be the only person who finds themselves thinking about early childhood in the pool—it’s so womb-like, and the source of so many childhood experiences.
In the pool, I’ve been able to cultivate more compassion for people that have hurt me. Something about those endless laps, the safety of the water—the way it holds you—gives me the capacity to discover depths inside me I hadn’t realized were just under the surface.
Swimming still remains the one thing I can do that doesn’t cause me horrible back pain or give me a migraine. As someone with tendonitis in both shoulders, it’s not always easy, but it’s worth the physio I have to do to stay in the water.
I took Zach with me to the pool a few weeks ago and he confirmed it’s a massive pain in the ass to be a swimmer: about two hours roundtrip for only twenty-five minutes in the water. But I love it and I love that I do something that is daunting or unappealing to others. (Like writing books).
Whatever you're swimming toward with your writing goals during this final lap of 2022, I wish you three things:
Accountability / Community Support
Joy in the act of doing the thing
Believing it when you whisper to yourself, "I am strong."
If you don't have that right now, then you know where to find me.
With love and pinch of chlorine-infused metaphors,
