I love open water swimming. I try to swim all year round so when the water temperature drops outside to what feels just about intolerable, I still get on my wetsuit for another swim, but the day, so far, always comes, when I know I’ve taken my last swim for the year outside. I’m well practiced and extremely good at digging my heels in so when it comes to facing the music that the pool is going to be my ‘go to‘ for months ahead, I wait until I no longer can. Finally the longing to use my limbs and breath, to physically reach my arms and hands going from airborne to submerged as my legs kick and pump, is so strong I go to the pool. Lap swims are confined to lanes and walls. Open water is not. There’s nothing like swimming in an open body of water that offers uninterrupted movement forward. Re-entry to lap swims start with disappointment and thankfully end with recognition: “Constance, that wasn’t so bad now was it.”
Some very, very, very, important things about open water are the elements: air, water, sky, land, trees, rocks. Can’t find that in an indoor pool. fluid space is vast, the sky too. When the waters are flat, glassy, the glide is absolutely heavenly. When wind makes for choppy waters the physical demand is undeniable; it feels so good to stir up my energy to match the chop. Exertion brings exuberance and a welcome fatigue at the end of a swim.
My experience with painting has similar reflections of what you’ve just read. There can be lulls when I’m not creating, for whatever reasons. I’m good at digging my feet in. Just like the re-entry to the pool that simply takes doing it...picking up a paint brush, swirling the paint, is all it takes to make the first brush mark that is required for every painting. It’s not that hard. What is it about us humans? Maybe pausing, waiting, stewing, has its place.