Floating... Like it's my Job

These days, it could be said that I'm working my tan like it's my job. I know... you're rolling your eyes.  How unfair to mention this when most of you are working full-time, running around after kids, or somehow balancing the dizzying combination of the two.  But bear with me for a moment.

The tan is just the by-product of a new daily "workout" at the lake.  And the new daily workout is the product of a hamstring injury that has summarily sidelined almost everything that I love to do:  running, walking, biking, hiking and even yoga.

I understand that this is temporary - yet having found no real cause for the pain, it is disconcerting. With the help of a chiropractor and a physical therapist, I have spent the last several months being x-rayed, adjusted and stretched like a contortionist.  I estimate I've spent roughly 3,000 minutes in Gumby-like positions or sitting on an ice-pack. Oh my god.

Here's the interesting thing, though:  I hurt more now than before.

This is especially troubling because I've always believed that if I just work a little harder, do that extra project, or go the extra mile -- well then, I can make anything better.  But this morning, after a long and lovely swim, I balanced myself on my water noodle like an old lady and began to think about a new action plan.  How about... I stop trying.  How about I let go, stop the painful PT, and simply allow my body to find its best way to heal and its right way to be.

Instantly, the ego reacts.  You mean, accept my body exactly as it is in this moment?   Flawed?

Yep.

And then deeper questions: You mean, accept my Self exactly as I am at this time?  Accept that I'm in the exact right place - hunting for work, living at my parents' house and dealing with a hitch in my giddy-up?

Yes.

And with that yes and that acceptance comes the big lesson.

It is a choice to either believe that swimming is a poor substitute for activities that I'd rather be doing - or to revel in one of the greatest delights of summer.  I've loved to swim ever since the summer of 1982, when my sister and I learned to crawl, breaststroke and backstroke in the chilly lake near our grandparents' house in Wisconsin - the one with the slimy green ropes and the marginally scary instructors with long-voweled accents. Unquestionably one of the best summers of my life.

Today, the water still holds such magic - the rhythm of the strokes, the meditative breath, the feeling of sleek weightlessness mixed with bursts of power, the utter freedom of it.  And now I get to swim every day.

I won't stop wanting to run - and I won't stop believing that I'll be back on the trails soon.  But I will stop thinking that I'm not really living until I'm pounding the road in my Asics.  I can choose to hold the dream while enjoying the hidden blessings, lessons and joys of right now. 

So often, we feel like we're waiting for something else to happen:  waiting for the house to sell, waiting for the next job or a better relationship, waiting for the economy to pick up or for life to slow down, or in this case, waiting for a hamstring to heal. But while all of this waiting is happening - so is LIFE. 

I'm aware that I am enjoying one of the most beautiful times on my path so far.  This summer is not simply a stepping stone to what's next, but a series of moments and memories that fill up the soul - movies and ice-cube fights with my nephews, getting "made up" by my four-year-old niece, lake days, motorcross nights, catching up with dear friends, and the day-to-day delights of spending time with my mom.  It's the gift of time... time to dust off old dreams and goals and to create new visions for the future.

There will certainly be moments when we all must must prepare for a slow long-distance crawl - or perhaps a mad dash for the raft.  But there are other times, like now, when we can simply turn onto our backs and float - soaking in the sunshine and feeling the body buoyed by we know not what.  This is trust.  This is acceptance.  This is knowing that we are, at all times, in the just right spot.

I hope that you are diving in - enjoying every breath, every kick, every stroke.  Life is short - and so full of possibility... so swim deep!

PS - I know where some floaties are if you need them.