A few weeks ago the kids and spent some time at my Mom’s house. One of the highlights of visiting Mom is swiming in her pool. The kids leap right in, get out all of the ‘noodles’ and have a blast swimming around.
Swimming in Mom’s pool brings back lots of memories. Back in my high school days I spent a lot of time swimming: either I was relieving stress, working on my tan, or conditioning for the swim team. Back then, my favorite way to get in the pool was to dive head-first into the deep end.
But now I just can’t bring myself to leap in. I slowly immerse my body, inch-by-inch. It’s not unusual for it to take me 30 minutes to get my whole body under. I just hate the way the cold water feels and I can’t force myself in any faster.
As I was slowly getting wet on the last day at Mom’s house it dawned on me that this must be part of getting old. No longer do I leap into the unknown headfirst, ready for the thrill and shock of the cold water. Instead, I am cautious and slow–I’m only willing to tolerate the littlest bit of discomfort and to take small risks.