High school freshman me at our most important varsity swim meet of the year
Until the end of my senior year of high school, I was the swimmer. It's how people knew me. Every conversation with various family members started the same way: "How's school? How's swimming?" Those two questions in quick succession as if to reinforce the importance of the sport that I had been doing since I was 5. For a long time I resented these questions. They felt reductive and I felt ignored, as if my entire identity was concentrated into this one activity, this one thing that I did. I am much more than a swimmer! I would think with all the indignation of a teenager. I wanted to encapsulate multitudes, to feel whole without my entirety wrapped up in one quality.
Since coming to college, if you were to ask anybody who knows me to describe me, I don't think you'd get a single person to say swimmer. In fact, I asked a couple of my friends and these are the responses I gathered: the voice of reason, yogi, wanderlust adventurer, wife, literature queen, writer, mom, peace-bringer, bowler, cute pants-wearer, eats-cookies-for-breakfast-er, cheerleader, and a friend you want by your side. Oh how the turns have tabled. (A few explanations may be warranted: 'wife' came from my best friend & roomie Tessa, 'mom' was not unexpected, I've always been the mom friend, & 'cute pants-wearer' is actually a phrase I've been hearing a lot about myself lately. Apparently my pants wardrobe has been stepping up its game)
Still at that varsity APAC meet as a freshman, this time out for dinner with my homestay teammates
Having been the swimmer for as long as I can remember, it appears I've done a 180 and have dropped the identifier completely. This lovely list of identities provided by my friends checks off everything my indignant, teenage self was hoping for and I'm very proud, not to mention incredibly flattered, by all of these. But part of me, that very part that found Troy Bolton-level offense in 'only' being the swimmer, really misses the label. I chose not to swim competitively in college for various reasons and I have never regretted that choice. Rather, I mourn for the identity I connected with for the majority of my life so far. Shedding this identity that came wrapped in my too-tight competition suit, cap, and goggles is what let me grow into the multitudes I exist within today, but that doesn't make the process any less nostalgic or melancholy. I've felt as lost within myself recently just as much, and sometimes simultaneously, as I think I'm finally starting to find the truest expression of who I consider myself to be.
Navigating this ever-changing space has taken a lot my mental and emotional capacity lately and I think leaning into this change is only recently becoming easier. I've been learning throughout this process to take some cues from nature, especially now with the changing of the seasons. In order to make room for the new blossoms of spring, nature has to shed everything old. This is where I have been lately, shedding parts of my old self to make room for the new. It's a beautiful, if occasionally painful, mournful, and melancholy, place to be. But now? All that's left is room for change and space for growth. And that's the most beautiful place to be of all.
I'm heading into this holiday season looking forward to the growth that I know is coming as I also look forward to the peace I am confident I will find. I hope you feel similarly hopeful during this beautiful time -- and I think I'll close this post the same way I end my yoga classes: May you walk this Earth with peace and at ease. Namaste.
Me more recently! Ready for my own personal renewal.
(Also, if you ever need a shot of self-confidence ask your friends how they would describe you because it will leave you absolutely floating on air.)
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