Where will you find the guy this winter? – Wired PR Lifestyle Story

I’m submerged again. Without glasses, I can barely see, but I know enough to stay in my lane and not disturb the elderly man next to me, on his street. We split, that’s the word for ordinary public pool swimmers – can we split the lane please? When we cross in the opposite direction, I am in the middle, almost holding my breath.

He’s running in the water, or he’s running as well as he can with his endurance. He barely moves but is determined, calm and firm in his attempt, working his legs and arms. Thirty years from now I think of myself, I think I will still be lucky to face these waters; I hope my lane partner will give me the grace to move as much as I can.

It’s early in the morning in an outdoor pool in Santa Monica, California. My bag is on my back with my towel, phone, wallet and keys. All access to me: gone.

I’ve been swimming on the lap for 15 years now, in every indoor and outdoor pool you can imagine: from LA to Brooklyn, from Montreal to Munich. Essentially and utterly pessimistic, there is nothing like a Peloton bike or the latest HIIT workout or a stylish step counter around the wrist. If you swim in a public pool, like me, bathroom dirt, slow swimmers, chlorine odors can only stink even the most enthusiastic athletes.

Unlike on the beach, where people show off their perfect bikini bodies and beach covers, in the pool, on the daily lap — swimmers seem absurd with our Speedo and rubber hats and goggles: like insects, unrecognizable. Democracy is a kind of comedy.

And then there’s boredom. Yes, you can improve your stroke, your technique. But where does that take you? Faster to the other end of the pool? Turn around and come back from where you came from? There is, alas, no rest in the repetitiveness of the activity; it is nowhere but in the water, only with the body and the breath.

But there is real joy: I am really alone. This is the only place, the only time in my life, when I am completely, happily inaccessible. Underwater, there is no deeper silence. Away from the phone drops, from the latest news alert, from the noisy world that enters our private lives forever. We have no choice but to delve into the mysteries that can only be felt in silence.

Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how I can bring that kind of attention to my whole life, especially during these dark winter months. Too many of my days go by in a frantic multi-tasking loop. Return a message to a friend and check New York Times home page and listen Help Adele and my daughter do some math and throw in the clothes dryer while sautéing the onion for dinner? Yes! Yes, I can!

Well, no, not really.

Where can we find that special attention: reading a book on the couch. Candlelit baths. Snow walks. Quiet lunch with a friend. A long phone call with my mom, where I just hear her voice. Write a letter. Bake a cake a neighbor, placing one measurement at a time.

I am committed to acting as my guide to keep the pool quiet this season. I want more that.

Abigail Rasminsky He is a writer, editor and teacher living in Los Angeles. He teaches creative writing at the Keck School of Medicine at USC and writes a weekly newsletter, People + Bodies. He has also written about the Cup of Jo marriage, children only and befriending neighbors.

PS The trick of life, and wise words.

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