Bobbing and Sobbing

I am bobbing up and down in the deep end of our outdoor pool on a chilly fall day. The hot, hot water of the pool is making steam clouds that hover over the water’s surface, shrouding me in an eerie fog. I am in a fog, indeed. I am sidelined from Life with an injury – a herniated disc – and I am in pain, feeling sorry for myself. I inhale the steam slowly, thinking “well, at least I get a good facial out of this.”

The past several months has been a real ass kicker of worry, sorrow, sadness and loss in my clan of loved ones. I have been driven by the need to seek out lifelines of joy to offset the rising tide by taking trips, nights out with friends, family, my husband. Trying to make moments count. It is important to keep moving forward, to seize the day.

But then, all of the sudden, the bottom just falls out. Sometimes, Life gets the best of you. Sometimes, you make such a point of seizing the day that the day ends up seizing you. And you find yourself in the deep end of the pool, sobbing.  

As I move through the fog, I realize I’m not in charge of anything. Or anyone. “What is the plan?” I think, blinking slowly, then just closing my eyes, thinking not just of me, but the larger picture. Perhaps this is the plan … to just be still. To stop moving forward. I am thinking of a yoga mantra that says, “Be here now in this.” I am remembering the biblical phrase that came to me as we kept vigil for my mom for days and days, “Be still and know that I am God.”

I bicycle my legs slowly and recall my visit earlier in the week, to the indoor pool at the local health club. I went there for a trial run, to consider joining. There, in the pool, I was suspended by a floaty belt, like a child, choking back tears as I surveyed my surroundings. The pool was populated mostly by women older than I, committed to taking care of themselves, recovering from their own injuries, attending to each other, building a supportive community, as women do. There was a man in the lap lane, dutifully putting in his time, going back and forth, alone. I thought he was an interesting juxtaposition to the female tribe on my side of the lane markers.

“I am a soggy, pathetic fly on the wall,” I thought as I bicycled my legs in slow motion, wincing as my back reminded me that all is not well. These women, laughing, cajoling, supporting ... It was clear they have been together for a while. “But I am not of them,” I thought to myself. “I am younger, healthier. I am vital. I am not an injured middle-aged woman. I’m good. I am … not them. I shouldn’t be here.” It all made me feel … vulnerable.

I continued in this vein, listing this way and that in my buoyancy belt, wallowing in self-pity … until I observed a couple of gals in the shallow end, moving their legs under water as they chatted. One was in a head scarf, bald as a cue ball, clearly going through chemotherapy. She seemed blasé about it, though I’m sure she wasn’t really. She shouldn’t be there, either. She should be doing whatever her own Life is: working, paying bills, cajoling her grandchildren, bowling, whatever. 

I peddled past them as they smiled hello. I was just another gal in the pool.

Back in my princess setting, in my heated pool with a crystal blue autumn sky overhead, I chuckle at my ridiculousness. I am ashamed of myself as I move my way through the fog.

“Who the hell do I think I am?”

I peddle over to the stairs and slowly, carefully get out of the pool. With humility, I emerge and say to myself out loud, “Get the hell over yourself.”  I gingerly grab my towel and go inside.

There are worse places for a pity party.