Deep Water and Shallow Fears

On our third and last morning of vacation on beautiful St. Pete's Beach, my friend Marcie and I stood looking out at the deeper water, just yards from the beach (yes I know, that's not really deep), catching sight of the sandy bottom, tiny shells and schools of teeny silvery fish between gentle waves and dapples of sunlight. We didn't want to say goodbye to the beach.

A lone man wearing goggles swam slowly, parallel to the beach, unaware of anything around him. We watched to see what would happen if he collided with a solitary couple standing shoulder deep in the smooth water. It was pretty early for anyone to be playing in the water so he probably didn't anticipate many obstacles during his morning swim. At the last moment they saw him and moved slightly out of his way -- he was completely unaware of the near miss and glided on. We wondered how long he had been swimming, how far he planned to go and if he did it often.  I thought how brave he is to swim like that and wished I could be so brave. 

Beautiful St. Pete's Beach, where we walked each morning of our vacation.

We had been wading calf-deep during our morning walks, but neither of us had ventured any further out. It wasn't just my irrational fear of deep water -- water where I can't see my feet or anything around my feet -- that kept me from going in deeper. My even more irrational fear of exposing my white, flabby body on a beach full of toned, tanned people -- young and old -- kept me from taking off the yoga pants that I wore over my bathing suit, rolled to my knees, wet and sandy from wading. I have always been modest and self conscious but even more so now as an overweight 52 year old. I wished I had one of those old type bathing suits or I was thinner. "Then I would swim", I thought. 

Now, though, I felt the deeper water calling me.  I longed to feel the softly rippled sand under my feet and gentle waves on my arms. I hadn't felt those sensations in years and years.  The last time I had been in the Gulf (or ocean or lake) any deeper than my knees had been over 10 years ago -- and it was not my choice to do so.  My daughters and I were at Point Estero in Florida and had just gone parasailing.  We got off the parasailing boat onto a  life-boat type raft that was supposed to take us back to the shore, but because the waves were too high for the raft to safely make it to the beach, we had to jump out into the pounding waves, almost chest deep (it probably wasn't that deep).  I was scared out of my wits, but the adrenaline rush from parasailing pushed me quickly through the water and onto the beach.

The feeling of being in the water was a lot like water skiing on Lake Erie with my aunt and uncle when I was a teenager.  I was at the far end of a tow rope, the people in the boat looking ahead, not at me, as I fell, letting go of the rope.  I was alone in very deep, dark water, as the boat sped away from me.  I hoped they would see that I had fallen, sooner than later, and come quickly back to pick me up. I grabbed desperately for the skis which had blown off my feet and put them back on, tucked my legs up, floated and tried not to think about what was swimming around and right under me. Or 10 feet under me.  Or 30 feet under me. I was scared an eight foot sturgeon would rub against me. "And what else is down there?" I thought. "I shouldn't have read "Jaws" this summer. I know there are no sharks in this lake, but what if...?"

The pier at Rye Beach, Huron, Ohio, on Lake Erie.  

Or it felt like jumping off the end of the pier at Rye Beach when I was a kid. I did it only once at the strong urging of my sister Karen and my cousins-cousins, Rick and Jeff, our summer playmates, who did it over and over and over.  The brown-green water, the slimy seaweed covering the rocks and sides of the pier where I had to climb out, the snakes and fish that swam below (I assumed), the fabled, supposedly extinct lamprey of the Great Lakes (they aren't extinct!). I just couldn't do it and my sister and cousins-cousins teased me when I wouldn't jump again.  I sat on the pier and watched them laugh and swim in the lake I loved but feared. I even feared swimming near the shore because globs of smelly seaweed and dead fish tangled with my feet much too often.

Nothing was forcing me into the water this third and final day of our vacation but I kept feeling the pull -- in a good way. I wanted to go in. Marcie heard the water calling too because she said "Let's go in".

"Really?" I said, like a kid. "You want to go too? But I don't have my water shoes (the ones that keep me from feeling slimy bottoms and seaweed) and my swim shorts (the ones that cover the stretch marks and bulges on my upper thighs)". 

"No one will care" Marcie assured me.  "No one will even notice us. And look how smooth the sand looks out there".

I took off my yoga pants and sunglasses, she took off her cover up and straw hat, and we lay them safely on one of the hotel's cabana chairs (which we didn't pay for, which made me feel guilty, and I worried someone would steal everything), along with our cell phones (for pictures, not calls) and my coffee cup from the hotel room (will they be mad at me for taking it to the beach?), then walked quickly back down to the water. I felt very exposed but quickly entered the warm water to my knees, then my hips, then my waist -- worried more about covering my exposed skin than what was in the water. Marcie held back a little, getting used to the feel of the water around her waist. I felt frightened but very brave to be out further than her -- even just a few feet -- alone. Should I shuffle my feet in case there are sting rays?  Were those tiny fish baby sharks or just tiny fish? Is there something larger chasing them like in "Finding Nemo"?

Soon we were both chest deep and began treading water, then floating, then gliding on our backs.  The warm, salty water felt incredible. Floating felt incredible -- relaxing yet exhilarating at the same time. Marcie marveled at my ability to float; I couldn't sink if I tried (another one of my super powers, I guess -- my other is predicting what size container will hold left-overs). A long river of tiny fish swam past us, between us, around us, but I never felt a thing, even though I both hoped and dreaded that I might feel them tickle my legs.

"I'm going to swim along the shore, just a short distance, just to say I actually swam in the Gulf of Mexico, along the shore, just like that guy". And I did.  Kind of. Head up. Face out of the water. Awkward strokes for only about 15 feet.  It wasn't like "that guy" but I did it.  I did it.  I faced my fear of "deep" water and got in.  I faced my fear of exposing my body in public, on a beach where we had just previously seen a very toned, very tanned, very fit, very good looking probable Tampa Bay Buccaneer (I'm sure it was Luke Stoker and now I'm afraid I'm a "Stoker Stalker") jogging in only shorts, sunglasses, a ball cap and running shoes. Oh my.

Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.  Anyway, I did it and it felt wonderful, relaxing, brave, long overdue. As we were in the water we noticed how far we had drifted from our entry point, which we had identified by our hijacked beach chair with all our stuff (yay, it was still there!), and it was okay. We simply swam back -- we swam back! -- got out, and excitedly talked about what we had just done as we gathered our belongings. I wondered if anyone looked out and thought we were brave and adventurous.  Or did they think the two middle-aged women coming out of the water were really silly? And then I didn't care what anyone thought.  I did it and I loved it.  I shared it with my friend Marcie and we will always have that memory, like I have my memories of parasailing with my daughters, skiing with my uncle, playing at Rye Beach with my cousin's-cousin Jeff, who passed away a few years ago. My friend and I swam together in the Gulf of Mexico, on the last morning of a beautiful adventure.


We're already talking about where we'll go next.

Seeing "Me Time" From a Different Perspective

I had a difficult time bouncing back from the brutal winter. Job stress also wore me thin. No, actually it wore me thick, unfortunately.  Inactivity and stress-induced eating caused me to gain weight and I have felt awful. Although warmer weather and a less stressful summer work schedule have kicked in, I've still had difficulty getting inspired to do anything other than eat, browse Pinterest and Facebook, take long baths, read fiction, flip through magazines, and watch the History channel. I've not been depressed or even in a funk, just uninspired and unmoved.

I think back to how good I felt and looked just over five years ago, when I was walking and working out every day, eating healthy foods, going on adventures with friends, doing design work, blogging and looking forward to personal and family projects. People told me I looked 10 years younger than I was; now I feel like I have aged 10 years in the last five.

Here is a photo of me on my last trip with my travel buddy Marcie, in January 2009, ready to turn 47. I was newly divorced and out of work at the time, but positive, hopeful, happy and very active -- and 25 pounds lighter.

I have tried my old standbys -- think positive, get outside, read inspirational books, do Yoga, create something -- but all my efforts have failed, especially when it comes to getting regular activity, eating healthier, and getting some of this weight off. But also I've not been inspired to make improvements in the house or yard, create artwork, spend time with friends, go out to listen to music, attend events in the community: things that need to be done and things that usually "feed my soul".
 
I've been telling my husband what I really need to get me out of this rut and back on track is to go away to a spa resort for a week or two. One where I eat only healthy food (that's made for me or where I cook it in an amazing kitchen), take long walks and go hiking/biking/kayaking or horseback riding among beautiful scenery (an ocean, red rocks, mountains), do Yoga (by the water of course), have massages (on the beach or in a beautifully equipped spa room) and paint or write or do something else creative. He laughs as if I'm teasing him -- but I'm serious. I have desperately needed to do something to pull me up and out of my lethargy and that sounds like the perfect cure to me. 

That's not going to happen any time soon (or in the future).  It's too expensive and I don't have that much vacation time. It also seems pretentious -- "That's for rich people and we're not rich people", Craig would say (did say, actually).

"But I need to do something", I told him.  "If you want me to continue to be the woman you fell in love with, I have to do the things I was doing five years ago that made me that woman."

So, after several delays for various reasons in and out of my control, I took a trip to Florida to visit an old friend who is also my favorite travel buddy.  Marcie and I haven't traveled together for over five years, and we've visited briefly only a few times in the last several years, so the visit with her (and her partner who I like to call our Cabana Boy) was way over due.

At first I felt guilty about spending the money and taking time away from my husband and pre-teen daughter, but then I remembered they were able to go on a spring break trip without me when I couldn't get away from my job during the busy college visit season. Also I felt like I deserved it because I had been working so hard at home and the office and had saved some of the money I earned working overtime.  Also, I don't spend a lot of money on "entertainment" -- or anything else for that matter.  I'm pretty frugal and practical with my spending.

I took the trip and it was amazing.  Maybe it's the healing qualities of the sea water, maybe it's the sunshine, maybe its the healthy food, maybe it's spending time with an old friend, maybe it's facing a personal fear and challenging myself (more about that later), maybe it's the change of scenery...maybe it's all of that combined.  Who knows for sure what helped me but I feel like a renewed, inspired person.  I plan to write about the trip in more detail in future blogs, but I can say now it was totally worth the time and money.

Here is a humorous picture of me on my recent trip, feeling quite frumpy and lumpy on the beach. My size horrifies me but not because of how it looks as much as how it feels and keeps me from doing things I love.  Marcie assures me I look like the 50 foot woman only because of the perspective and angle of the shot. I know better, however. This is not how I want to look and feel on a beach or at home in Indiana. This photo and my trip have inspired me to make changes.

Why do women have to rationalize spending money and time on themselves? Why do we feel guilty about taking care of ourselves and doing something just for us? When I ponder these questions I'm lead in many directions and I realize I have so much more to write about in the near future: general topics such as self-care, working mothers, saving for vacations, work/life balance, friendship, creating, living a purposeful life; but also more personal topics such as what I did on my trip, how it inspired me in many ways, how I faced a major fear (and survived), and how I'm making personal life-changes.