Nudged: Sink or swim?

By Lesley Pyne, Guest Nudger

Lesley Pyne has inspired me for years through her writing for the childless-not-by-choice community. A few months ago, she announced she was shifting and expanding her focus to explore some deeper life questions, and I knew it was the perfect time to feature her in a 52Nudges post. She is wise, caring, thoughtful, and adventurous. I’m excited to have this new opportunity to learn from her. — Kathleen

I’m always interesting in having new experiences, so when Kathleen asked me to be a Guest Nudger, I immediately said yes. Then followed a fair amount of overthinking; nothing on her list attracted me, and for several weeks I agonised over what to do.

In the end I decided to go swimming, which is something I used to love but haven’t done for at least five years. The opportunity presented itself to revisit the pool where I swam as a child, so I took it. Many happy memories were connected to that pool: having private lessons because my parents couldn’t swim, joining and swimming with a club, learning lifesaving techniques, swimming with both primary and high schools, and being part of school competitions. And, of course, having fun with friends.

Note: As always, you have options with offered Nudges. You might choose to get back in the swim of things–literally or figuratively! 🙂 Perhaps this is the week you return to an activity you loved doing as a child, or revisit a place that holds special memories.

What Happened: I decided to go early in the morning as it’s designated for lane swimming. Despite every fibre of my being telling me to stay home, I got in the car and drove to the pool.

Glossing over the fact that the attendant (correctly) charged me the over-60’s rate without asking whether it applied, I was immediately struck by how strange and different the pool looked and felt. I knew it had been refurbished in the 40 years since my last visit, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be completely different. Apparently, the pool is now 8m (26 feet) to the right, the changing rooms have become a changing “village,” and the spectator stand has disappeared.

It wasn’t the pool I knew and loved as a child, and all hope of reliving those memories evaporated.

Despite this, I carried on, joined the appropriate lane for my speed, and swam for what seemed like a long time. I do a lot of yoga, hiking, and Nordic Walking, so my legs are strong, but my arms less so, and swimming was harder than I remembered! I continued until my arms were tired, then decided to call it a day.

And What Really Happened: I was reminded of the feel of weightlessness of my body in water, how it moves automatically in accordance with strokes learned long ago, including the bad habits I developed at the time.

Exercising long-neglected muscles felt invigorating, and afterwards my whole being felt both incredibly alive and stretched.

Emotionally, I guess I set myself up to fail. I had hoped that the atmosphere of the pool would rekindle childhood memories, and thinking about it now, that was never going to happen. These words by Agatha Christie seem appropriate:

“One cannot, ever, go back to the place which exists in memory. You would not see it with the same eyes—even supposing that it should improbably have remained much the same. What you have had, you have had. ‘The happy highways where I went, and shall not come again….’

“Never go back to a place where you have been happy. Until you do, it remains alive for you. If you go back, it will be destroyed.”

I am a childless, only child whose parents have died, and only a few friends and family members knew me well when I was young. When the people are gone, memories are all we have, and sometimes they have an irresistible pull. This was one of those, and despite knowing better, I was hoping to travel once more down the happy highways of my childhood.

This time I had a narrow escape; the newness and strangeness of the pool meant that my memories remain alive. Next time I may not be as lucky.

The Ah-Hahs: I had plans to revisit some other “happy highways” from my childhood, and I know now that the memories are too precious to be revisited and reexamined by my 60-year-old eyes. I will keep them alive in my memory by not going back.

I did enjoyed swimming, and will go again.