How not to be humiliated in a bathing suit

“Enjoy your problems.” 

~S. Suzuki

I am a swimming autodidact.  I have been swimming for as long as I can remember.  My parents even told me I was conceived in a pool (ummm, eww).  I was never afraid of the water.  Respectful, observant of weather patterns, rocks, and jellyfish, but never afraid.  I first learned how to swim by hanging on to the neck of my Dad as he would "dolphin" dive with me underwater.  I instinctively knew to hold my breath.  Or I would float on my back as Granddad or Nan swished me through the water.  Or doggy paddle on my belly from one side of the pool to the other as Mum cheered me on.  I never took formal lessons.  I read swimming books at the library.  Watched how-to videos.  Went as far out into the waves as I was allowed.  Perfected my crawl, my breaststroke, my flutter kick.  Attempted to butterfly.  I once took a part-time job manning the desk at a community centre just so I could swim and water jog for free as often as I liked.  Mum had a no-dive policy at home, so at 20, not knowing the technique, I asked a lifeguard to show me.  I practiced over and over on the side of the pool, flopping in head-first, like a seal.  I have always been of the determined sort.

At 32, I still swim regularly.  I own more bathing suits than pants.  Today I jumped into the "medium" lane as usual and swam a few warm up laps, leisurely, enjoying the refreshing feeling of cool water on my hot skin.  At the end of the lane a lifeguard crouched down and got my attention.  He pointed to the two other men in my lane, the big muscular ones, swimming aggressively in (ahem!) flippers.  He told me they were training for a triathlon and that it would be better if I changed lanes to "something more my speed."  He motioned to the lane on my left, where two other men, one older than my father and one with a form I can only describe as "flailing" took turns meandering up and down the pool.  He then grabbed the attention of a third gentleman who was also in that lane and told him to switch places with me because he was fast enough to keep up with the triathlon guys (i.e.: the "real" athletes).  Yes, the ones in neon flippers.  He smiled big and said, "Wow! What a compliment!" and hopped into the other lane.  I felt the red flushes of humiliation creep up my cheeks as I reluctantly moved to the other "medium" lane and resisted the very strong urge to jump out of the pool and yell, "Fuck you guys!" all the way into the change room until I burst into tears.  Instead I took a deep breath and remembered why I was at the pool in the first place.

You see, I am an incredibly competent swimmer.  I am, when I want to be, quite fast.  I could, in fact, probably keep pace with the macho, spandexed idiots slapping each other on the back while pointing at their watches and guzzling sports drinks in the next lane.  I could have made a big stink and said that I had every right to swim wherever the hell I wanted to.

But that is not why I swim.  I don't like competitive sports.  I don't keep track of my time.  I don't wax off all my body hair.  I don't match my swim cap to my goggles.  I don't even (gasp!) own training fins.  I swim because it feels good.  Because it calms me.  Because it is a terrific low-impact exercise that aids the range of motion in my upper body while putting my cardiovascular system through its paces.  I chose not to be humiliated because what, really, would be the point?

The lifeguard was right.  This lane WAS better for me.  The two smiling beta males I shared it with politely let me go ahead of them, acknowledging my gentle presence instead of splashing water in my face as they overtook me like the dicks next door.  I swam my 25 minutes in the pool (no, I don't keep track of how many laps that is) and hopped out for a shower.  Everyone, I remembered, was at the pool today for a different reason.  One of those reasons wasn't better than another.  Everyone moved their bodies together through cool, chlorinated water.  Every heart pounded in every chest.  How fascinating.

"It is easy to believe we are each waves and forget we are also the ocean."

~Jon. J. Muth

Safe Spaces

Today I have been thinking a lot about safe spaces.  Places where I feel most like myself.  Or the person I most want to be, my highest self.  Places where that simmering, shaking quiver of anxiety that holds my chest tight and my breath shallow recedes.  Places that feel like home.

Even though I have the tendency to be quite extroverted, most of my safe spaces involve being alone, or with other people only on the periphery: bookstores, libraries, hiking trails, lonely beaches.  I love being in empty yoga or dance studios or curled up in a sunny porch, reading or knitting.  I love lying in a field of grasses staring up at the sky, or lying on my living room floor listening to records, or lying in a snowbank at night, staring at the stars.  I'm not religious, but I love being alone in giant, ancient, echoing cathedrals and cloisters, zendos, shrines.  It is the quiet I crave, not the doctrine.

I feel very calm around plants, digging in the dirt, riding a tractor, stacking hay in a loft.  I like animals but their unpredictability makes me nervous.  I'm more at home in an empty barn, when everyone's out to pasture and I'm shoveling shit.  I often feel the same about human animals.  I watch them with intense fascination, observing herd patterns and mothering odd ducks and spindly runts; but I'd rather deal with their messes (perhaps more abstractly!) than be in their constant company.

I relax in an art studio, in front of a typer and a blank page, or a sewing machine, as long as what I'm doing isn't perceived as work and there are no deadlines.

A wall of books and a comfy chair and nothing else to do but drink a cup of hot tea is heaven.

I love sitting up high in trees, looking out at the horizon, or in a greenhouse, smelling the moisture and growth.  Any type of water attracts me, lake or river or swimming pool.  And any type of fire.  I love running, hard, like I'm being chased, through woods and over hills and glens, jumping roots and rocks and water puddles, my heart screaming in my chest.  Preferably, predictably, alone.  I don't want to race.  I don't want to fall behind or feel like I have to slow my pace.  I just want to run.

If I am with someone I love, I want to snuggle in blankets, walk hand in hand through forests, read under the same light bulb and discuss what we've learned.  I talk out of nervousness, boredom, the need to share and grasp at connection, the need to help and heal others, wanting to resolve conflict, wanting to develop ideas that are only presently vague notions, and to attack and defend my private cathedral.  When I truly feel comfortable with someone, I'm able to say nothing and let them into my safe space.  This is a rarity.

I feel like there is some magic key in these revelations.  Examining my safe spaces feels like a road map, telling me future destinations, urging me to go back and dig up treasure I'd long ago buried and forgotten about.  I think there are answers here about where I should be heading, where I should live, what I should do for money and what I should do for fun, and with whom I should spend my time.

Where do you feel safe?  Where is your metaphysical home?