The water in the Shields Park Pool looked mighty inviting in a photo that appeared on the front page of Thursday’s Tribune.
It brought back memories of a picnic at the park when I was a child. The picnic was great, but I kept looking longingly at the pool, filled with kids. They would dive in with a splash, then come back up, their hair slicked back and their heads bobbing in the water, looking like so many seals.
One day, I promised myself, I will learn how to swim. Like those other kids, I will paddle along in the water, unafraid.
I did, too. It didn’t happen as quickly as I would have liked, but eventually I took lessons. I learned to float, then to actually swim. I never got up the nerve to dive, but I was just happy to be able to jump in and kick my way around.
Along the way, I realized that swimming is a lot like life. It looks a lot easier than it is.
In life, there’s nothing like the way you feel the first time you realize you can’t go shopping for shoes every payday, because you’re not living at home anymore.
Swimming’s the same way. You knew it was going to be different, but there’s no way to describe how it feels the first time the water closes over and around you.
OK, so you get used to not breathing except when your head is out of the water instead of in it. That’s not too hard when you’re just standing in the pool and dipping your head under just for practice. The hard part is not panicking when you jump into the deep end and realize there’s a little more distance between you and the surface. You pop back up in an instant, but early on, it can seem like forever.
In life, it’s easy to get in over your head, but the less you give in to panic, the sooner you’ll rise above your circumstances.
Watching other people swim, like watching other people dance or work or just plain live, tends to be somewhat two-dimensional.
That’s because that third dimension requires feeling.
You can’t swim without getting up close and personal with the way the water feels on your skin and drips down your back and pushes against your body. Even once out of the water, there is the way a soft breeze feels blowing across your face, and how relaxed every muscle in your body feels.
In the same way, you can’t really live without feeling, either.
If you don’t seem to have been really living lately, come on in.
The water’s fine.
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Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@ tribtown.com.

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