It takes a fraction of an instant for a child to fall into a swimming pool.
This notion terrified my parents.
“We will be hyper-vigilant” my father vowed. “We will never take our eyes off her.”
“There is only one way to keep her safe” my mom said. “As early as possible she will learn to swim.”
This is how I was taught to swim before I learned to walk.
I would crawl to the edge of the pool, stand up and dive in, arms extended and pressed against my ears, head slightly tucked in.
Then, I’d swim freestyle across the length of the pool.
Soon after that I could make that trip underwater, without coming up for a breath.
My family had a place on the Pacific Coast, in what was then the very small town of Puerto Vallarta. I swam in pools and in the open ocean.
I was in the water so much the skin on the tips of my fingers shriveled and my hair never had time to fully dry.
My father used to tease me that I was part fish.
Today, I find solace in water. I move easily underneath the surface, open my eyes and delight in the blurry outlines, the light and shadow and the pattern of my own bubbles.
There is a different kind of silence there, removed and muffled; a peaceful bobbing and suspension that pushes everything else away.
Swimming is a primal joy and along with other priceless things like tirelessness, the English language and big hands, it’s one of the best things my mother gave me.
Read other answers by Dushka Zapata on Quora:
- If you could recommend anything to me, what would it be?
- Can someone remain a lifelong learner?
- Why is establishing healthy boundaries such a painful process?
from Quora http://ift.tt/2hXBvoE
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