SINK, SWIM...OR FLOAT

I recently returned from a trip to the Caribbean and I gotta tell you, there are few things in life I appreciate more than floating aimlessly in the ocean like a piece of human flotsam.

 

I've always loved being in and around water. Some of my earliest and best childhood memories are those of spending long summer days at the swimming pool, staying in the water until about five minutes before Mom came to pick me up---just long enough for the hot concrete to quick-dry my soaking swimsuit to an acceptable level of dampness for the ride home. 

 

As a teenager, most of my summer Saturdays were spent water skiing at Lake Meredith with my friend Jeannie and her Dad. I look back at those halcyon days with nothing but smiles. Okay...except for that one very awkward day when my friend's dad was pulling me back into the ski boat, and my boob popped right out of my swimsuit and into his face. We both eventually got past the embarrassment. In fact, he's called me 'Sunshine' ever since.

Oddly enough, while I grew up bobbing in the water like a cork, the Dickman spent his formative years avoiding water with as much fervor as the Wicked Witch of the West. (What a world, what a world!)

 

  

While I cannot remember being unable to swim, Dickie never had much of a chance to learn, as a child. His Mom was (and is) deathly afraid of water and fearfully convinced her youngest son that swimming pool chlorine would trigger his asthma. Whether true or imagined, by the time Dickie grew old enough to go swimming on his own, her fear had become his. Teaching Dickie to swim became the goal of all his high school buddies. After purchasing several cans of liquid courage from the Jolly Pig one night, some of Dickie's friends convinced him to sneak into Huber Country Club for an impromptu swimming lesson. With every attempt, he sunk like a rock to the bottom of the pool.  Miraculously, they all managed to come up for air just in time to notice the flicker of headlights from an oncoming police car. Thankfully, the Dickman's legs and lungs were much more efficient on land.

 

Many years passed before Dickie found enough motivation to overcome his fear of water and his inability to float. The motivation came in the tiny form of his five year-old son, Lucas, who couldn't wait to go fishing with his Daddy. Which is precisely how---at 30 years of age---the studly Dickman found himself lined up along the edge of the Johnson Park Swimming Pool with an assortment of five and six year olds, ready to begin Mrs. McDaniel's Guppy Swim Class. As I sat in the bleachers (with the other Moms) and watched him dive nervously off the high dive and swim underwater like a madman to the other side of the pool, I was filled with respect for my husband.  Though he never mastered the fine art of floating, we celebrated the Dickman's damaged dignity and Guppy gumption with a shiny pair of water wings and a delicious fish-shaped cake.

 

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So there we were, 27 years later...lounging like lizards on a beach in the Bahamas, gazing peacefully out into the gorgeous turquoise waters of the Caribbean. A salty breeze lifted off the ocean, the waves splashed gently against the rocks. Enveloped in a cocoon of tranquility, nothing could disturb our peace. Right up until I uttered those five dreaded words:

 

“You ready to get in?”

 

Dickie's eyelids slammed shut and he started snoring. Loudly.

 

Not to be deterred, I punched him in the arm and repeated, “Come on...let's go play in the ocean.”

 

He reluctantly opened one eyeball and said, “Nah...you go ahead. I think I'm just gonna lay here and rest.”

“Look, we're here. We HAVE to go in. Bad things happen to people who travel thousands of miles to visit the ocean and don't appreciate it for all it's worth.”

Unconvinced, the Dickman replied, “Oh, I'm appreciating it just fine from right here. I do not feel the need to appreciate it up close and personal.  And wet.”

It was time to bring out the Big Guns: “Well. I'm not going in unless you do. And I really don't think you want to ruin my trip. Do you...?”

 

In we went. One of us in eager anticipation, the other in utter dread.

 

You see, it's all about perspective...

 

Before my bunions even get wet, I anticipate nothing will feel so good as being up to my ears in ocean. It doesn't bother me that the water is chilly, that there are sharp rocks to avoid along the bottom or gritty sand beneath my toenails. It never even crosses my mind to scan the water for sharks or jellyfish. I step into that ocean believing in my heart that my soul is about to be blessed, and I am never disappointed.

 

Dickie, on the other hand, is holding onto me for dear life...gasping in shock from the cold, cold water, yee-ouching! and pussyfooting over the rocks. His attention is sharply divided between watching out for predators and avoiding the abyss...that dreaded moment when the bottom of the ocean simply drops out from underneath him. Afterwards, he's usually glad I bullied him into going, but even more happy to return to dry land.

 

Same body of water shared by two different people with two vastly different experiences.   And this is why:

"We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are."

 

When I step into the ocean, I bring along with me my entire collection of  wonderful memories and delightful water-filled experiences, expecting more of the same. Similarly,  Dickie brings his preconceived ideas and perceptions with him.  Thus, the moment becomes two entirely different experiences.   I'm relaxed and awed. Dickie is stressed and wary.

 

For both of us, our perception has become our reality.  I perceive swimming in in the ocean to be a positive experience, and it always is. Dickie is 'pre-programmed' to believe that the treachery and danger of water outweighs the good, and it often does.  

 

Isn't that just a metaphor for life? Perception becomes reality:  we usually receive what we believe.  

  

It's a simple concept, really; a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The Good News is that you are the author of your own life story.  And it's up to you to make it a Best Seller. 

Because I refuse to leave him behind, and because he has a hard time telling me 'no', together we are managing to change Dickie's perception.  He is rewriting his reality.  Through the years, our collection of memories--complete with  pictures of splashing, even snorkeling in the ocean-- continues to grow. 

Will he ever be completely comfortable in the water?  Probably not.  Has he mastered the fine art of floating?  Absolutely...with a little help from me, standing behind, holding on. 

That's how it works, folks.  Believe it, receive it.  Even if the bottom falls out beneath you...just lay back, take a deep breath, and believe that you will float.