Things have not gotten better. In fact, improbably and unexpectedly, the hits have kept coming. Like dominos. I thought we were at the end of the set, but apparently not.
I slept well last night, but woke up with a mind still trying to decipher the riddle of how things were continuing to get worse. By the time I arrived at the pool to swim laps, my anxiety was ramping up enough that I was not sure I could swim. Irregular breathing and a racing heart make carefully timed breath-taking somewhat difficult. But, I continued on and hoped for the best.
Usually, swimming is almost hypnotic for me. The rhythm of my strokes, seeing my own arm curve out of the water, catching a glimpse of other arms curling back down to the surface or pushing through the bottom of an arc. The changing patterns of light on the bottom of the pool. The swell as an adjacent swimmer flips the turn. Either the ambient sounds muffled by the water in my ears or my immersion into the music coming through my earbuds. Sometimes, I have to consciously remember not to close my eyes, consciously remember to turn my head to take a breath (probably because I mostly breathe on every other stroke right now rather than pushing through to air hunger).
Not this morning. This morning, I could not compartmentalize.
I kept swimming. But, it made me frustrated and sad. I was looking forward to relief from the mental and emotional searching.
I noticed the sun was rising. I think today must have been my first day swimming at this pool in which they opened up the east-facing sidewall. It was glorious. With each breath, I marveled that I could see the sun peeking through the trees. With each lap, I noted its full circle becoming more visible. At that end of the pool, rainbows began to ripple low in the lane next to me.
On the sun-kissed turns, I did not hurry my own rotation. (I have not returned to flip turns, myself, just yet.)
It did not calm my anxiety, but it distracted me just a tiny bit and, still, it was