My instantaneous response to the question is always the same. The place I find the most comfort and reflection is mind-deep in a swimming pool. The cool, comforting ease of weight off my ankles cannot be found anyplace else I can think of. The ocean has mystery and depth. Far too heavy to relax. The Jacuzzi is a boiling pot of people soup. Yet, the swimming pool is a cloud I can float as high up on as I’d like, always able to float down to solid ground.
Some of my happiest family memories were spent in the community pool; an amenity that required a gate key and an adult. The chlorine after-smell is bittersweet with childhood nostalgia and stinging eyes. My 10-year-old self enjoyed chicken fights with my sisters atop my dad’s shoulders. We would always win. My teenage self started to mimic the Banana Boat twenty-somethings on the lounge chairs who never seemed to get in. I heard cell phone conversations about tonight’s plans or evil co-workers between magazine page-turns. It was here, alone, and in my pool lounger, that I started my relationship with the sun. I told the pool not to worry. I’m really just here to be with you.
When I moved up here to New York City from Orlando, Florida, I met the demise of my favorite pastime. The landscape didn’t allow for the lower classes to enjoy swimming privately. The sun didn’t shine year-round. My skin paled so fast, I had to darken my hair to compensate. I didn’t realize the seemingly effortless bronzing I’d done as a teenager was only temporary. Not only did my quality of life decrease, but my body also suffered. I gained weight and became Vitamin D deficient. I was diagnosed with arthritis at age twenty-three. I had to shed the pounds if I wanted to feel less pain, but the catch was—exercising hurt like hell. I had to find a pool, and fast. I shopped for years as an adult in NYC for pools to feel at home in. At first, the dark, over-chlorinated dungeons that the gym calls therapeutic was not worth the trip over. But now, over six years later, I travel 25 miles by car to be comfortable. It’s still sunless and reeks of chlorine, but it’s okay because, Pool, I’m really just here to be with you. I need you for the rest of my life.
In All My Authenticity 