I forget how much I like swimming until I actually do it. I’m lucky enough to have three pools at my disposal, but–as with so many other things in life–they tend to fade into the background, due mostly to familiarity. And yet each time I remember they’re there, and I ignore the horror-thoughts about being seen in a swimsuit, I’m amazed at how much pure joy I encounter there, in the water.
There is always, of course, that hesitation. Even on the hottest of days, I hesitate before diving in. Because that first moment is painful, for just a brief second. In some so-primal-it’s-kind-of-embarrassing kind of way, the sudden shock of cold makes me feel like crying. But only for a moment. Then it’s over, and I’m swimming, and I’m so happy to be swimming.
Seth Godin posted recently about the reason riding a unicycle is difficult. Essentially: you’re not-riding, and then you’re riding. There’s no in between. His post is fantastic, and got me to thinking about how much of life is like this.
How many times have I avoided doing something because of an immensely uncomfortable split second between not-doing and doing? By nature, I’m a procrastinator, which means I’m very very good at building that split-second up into a monumental horror. Is it, really? Nah. Usually not. But sometimes starting just sucks: there’s no momentum, only you, doing what my friend Colleen lovingly refers to as pushing the [redacted] boulder up the [redacted] hill.
So what do you do to make that bit less torturous? Trick yourself into it. My tried-and-true method: distraction. When I’ve got cleaning to do, I call someone I love, who loves talking. Then I get out the broom/duster/dishwashing gloves/whatever. The next thing I know, twenty minutes have gone by and things are a-sparkling. Exercise? Tell yourself you’ll do it for 5 minutes. If you’re like me, your pride will kick in, absolutely refusing to let you stop at 5 minutes. (But if it doesn’t, give yourself permission to stop there. There’s always next time, yes?)
The point is twofold. First, we have to be willing to be uncomfortable if we want to affect any change, anywhere. Be willing, in other words, to be toast. Second, we have to know ourselves and work with what we have and who we are.
I can’t say I won’t continue to cringe at the thought of being enveloped in cold water. But I’m not going to let it stop me from doing something that makes me come alive.
What about you?
Photo by Roadsidepictures via Flickr.
Thanks for the encouragement, Emma, but you probably already know what I think of cold water as a personal environment. I fully accept the wisdom of overcoming that horrible split second — the problem for me is that it’s not a split second. It seems to go on and on and by the time I’ve warmed up I’ve cooled down.
The “just five minutes” trick works wonders for many things, though. It even works (sometimes) for writing. Maybe I should employ it more often.
Pete, I really need to try that trick with writing–silly as it may sound, it’s never occurred to me to do that with writing! Go figure. As for the cold issue, perhaps you’re right in that it may have something to do with your being nearly a vegetarian meal.
I have nothing to add – this is such a perfect post. Bravo!