One July, shortly after I had turned six, my mom signed me up for swimming lessons at the town pool. I loved playing in the water with my friends. But lessons? I dreaded them. In fact, I failed the beginners’ class more than once. Not because I couldn’t swim. Actually, I was a pretty strong little swimmer. But to pass beginners’, you also had to float for one whole minute. Both skills were needed to move ahead. And no matter how hard I tried, floating turned into sinking. That was the problem. I was trying too hard.
I can remember my instructors gently encouraging me to relax, assuring me that I could trust the water to support me. But it was hard to believe that something so fluid could also be solid enough to hold me up. Swimming made sense. Floating did not.
That summer, the breakthrough came. Flat on my back, staring at the blue sky, I was surprised to realize the water was supporting me after all. And I wasn’t doing anything but letting it do what it so naturally does for ducks, boats, and people—it allows them to float.
