Diving in Head First

swimming for the first time this Summer

I went up the country to see my farmer friend Sara. She paused in the middle of the day to swim with me, in her family’s spring fed pool. I watch her dive into the deep end, the way I have many a time. This time, I think, I want to do that too. Not enter the way I do: toe to knee to hesitating thigh, hesitating belly, hesitating breast, arms waving around because of the cold.

It’s July, after all. Not so cold. And a Cancer new moon.

I’ve been very isolated lately, without any get up and go. It’s too hot. I’m also correspondingly, I think, very negative and angry. I came up here for my mental health, to force myself out, to see a friend. Seeing her dive in, being here now, I tell her I would like to dive in too.

“I can teach you!” she says “I’ve taught many children how.”

I’ve always felt my body doesn’t work like others do. Too long. Not trusting it. Diving in head first into a body of water is one of my very many fears, of things I think I can not do, of things I am afraid to try. Or maybe tried once and got hurt.

Today, I feel open to trying!

“kneel down” she says. “Get as close to the water as you can.”

“I am too old to kneel!” I laugh, wobbly, my knees don’t work so well I lower myself holding onto the edge of the trampoline and falling over. Instead I sit down on the edge of the pool. I will try from a sitting position instead.

“This is how old people learn!” I tell her. We laugh.

Now aim your hands down, and dive in.

I point my arms down like arrows, like I’ve seen in movies, hands together, head tucked down (although she doesn’t tell me that til the next time) and I plunge down, entering the water by sliding into it with grace, my favorite place.

“That’s perfect!” Sara says when I come up.

“I want to try again!”

I get up and out, perched over the deep end, leaning down with bent knees, but not all the way down, point my arms, “Tuck your chin in” I listen to Sara.

I fear for a moment before I plunge in. But take a breath and let go. I enter the water gracefully again. This time I go in a little too deep, I feel the pressure in my ears. But I’m doing it. I’m aiming and leaping, falling, going into the water head first. I can do it! The experience is refreshing, not too cold. The pool is perfect. this is amazing.

“You are a diver!” Sara says.

I am a diver! For the first time at 60 years and 14 weeks old. I was ready to try. And learn. With my friends coaching. I felt safe.

It was spontaneous but also discussed. I questioned her of fears and expressed concerns. I remember once when she taught Samuel to not be afraid of the lightning.

“Don’t believe the script people tell you, or that you tell yourself. You don’t have to be what you thought you were.”

For today that is the case. She tells me she can’t believe I’ve never dived before. I’m a natural born diver. My body was meant for this. It makes me feel good. I love swimming under water. Now I can dive in.

I walked through her smaller “empty nest” field

I ate left overs from her supper, she had cooked from the vegetables she grew. I had a dilled potato salad with peas that was UNBELIEVABLE! All her food was delicious. Going to Sara’s house always feels like going to my grandmothers house or something, like a family members house where things are made and given with love. We pulled two Dirt Gem tarot cards for the new moon, for each other, and read them to each other, and they were spot on.

She sat on the folded quilt I made her, on her bed, honored and used. When we pulled the cards for each other. I had the deep cool of the spring fed pool deep in me, just like she said, from spending a long time in there. When I hugged her good bye she was surprised of the coolness of my flesh. I feel like a magical fish. I need the springs and also the sea. A good friend is hard to come by. I rediscover the magic of my friend, over and over again. She does things the hard way and must trust her voice inside often recieving no praise for it, for a long long time. I always think farming is like writing. It's comforting to relate and admire her work.

She tells me how the potatoes come up, always so clean looking for living in the dirt.

Potatoes are my favorite thing!

To eat the food prepared and grown by her is really amazing.

It is getting harder and harder to be around people. people can be exhausting. Summer is hot. Things are hard. You can come back here her husband tell me. the pool is here everyday.

I am lucky to have farm friends.

Postscript:

I wrote this on July 15, the next day after swimming. Unlike myself, I paused in sharing it, wondering if the story had value to anyone else. Recently I went back- still diving in multiple times- and swam again, feeling like a moon rock again, cool for hours after. And felt my spirit refreshed again, and super grateful. I knew I wanted to share this essay, also thinking how it’s really a highlight of my Summer so far. Thank you Sara! <3

I talked to my mother and she told me I had been taught in a class at the YMCA to dive, to kneel down with the other children then an adult walk by and push us in, and that I did not like it. (I remember that class so well, how annoying and loud everyone was, and my joy in discovering I could hold my breath for a long time and stay under water longer than everyone else.) She told me her diving stories in lifeguard class, feeling weird about diving. Also I was recently reminded that my dad got scratched up diving off a fishing boat where he lived in Brooklyn as a kid. It was fun to be able to trace back my dislike of diving.