Night swimming

I learned to swim properly five years ago. Prior to this, every entry into a body of water more than two feet deep was accompanied by sheer terror and a pep talk. "You will not die. Relax." Snorkeling with a friend in Hawaii resulted in me clinging to a craggy, volcanic rock as waves "violently" lapped around me.



Now that I am a swimmer, I can appreciate the unique moving meditation that swimming offers. For me, much of this is due to the physics of sound under water. Everything is muffled except for the movement of air, bubbles escaping the echo chamber of my lungs and exploding. Often, when I swim laps, I close my eyes and allow my body to guide me. I think of night swimming.

Exploring Hawaii, 2012
My swimming instructors would remind us that the human body was not built for swimming. As we evolved, our bodies evolved to be land dwellers, upright walkers and runners. Thus, we needed to relearn a skill using a body unoptimized for it. This was shared to encourage us.

In our modern, evolved lives, have we also deselected for long attention spans, proclivities to silence? I might enjoy an evening ritual in which darkness reigns and quietness abounds.