When I was growing up, one of my best friend’s had their very own pool. I mean we’re talking the in-ground, heated pool, no less. Complete with a well-kept cement patio and diving board. It was every little kid’s dream.
A group of our friends would come spend the night on her small enclosed deck, eating this ridiculously delicious French onion dip her mom made alongside those classic Ruffles chips (spoiler, it was just Lipton’s powder she mixed with sour cream, but you may as well have convinced me that she was a culinary genius); we’d stay up swapping stories and gossip and share all good things slumber party.
This would tend to be after a day poolside. And when I reflect back, everyone had their variation of using it.
Until much older, some would have those arm floaties around their upper arms and goggles over their eyes. Shuffling to the front-end of the structure where there was a railing and about 3-4 steps gradually allowing you to come in.
Others would run to the diving board (even though they had that sign “No Lifeguard On Duty” posted) and nearly sumo-wrestled others out of the way to be the first to perform a gymnast-like trick or a Lemon Drop and splash! into the water. Some sat on the side with their feet dangling in, choosing either to continue half sunbathing with their chest facing the sky, or flip things around as they dove in and half floated with their lower legs resting on the cement, their backs bobbing in the waves made by others.
I want to say I mixed up my entries into the pool. As well as the way I chose my exits. There was stepping out, clawing yourself up over the edge, or using the ladder.
What am I getting at? (aside from the fact that I want to scoot over to my local grocery mart and pick up some Lipton’s French Onion powder) my point is: we all got wet.
It didn’t matter much what we used to get in or out, what we used to hang out or to swim – some of us with floaties on our arms, or those inflatable tubes you’d always topple over in, or foam noodles – the diverse play was only matched by us yelling so hard that our friend’s parents surely came out asking us to mind our Ps&Qs (amazing how sound’s volume travels far and loud across the water).
It’s like our adventures in life. When we approach creating a new career, or making a decision around school, or the way we engage in our friendships.
Sometimes, we throw caution to the wind, and jump right the hell in. Other times, we feel things out with our toes so-to-speak and acclimate to the temperature first. Going at things slowly, diligently.
You may decide one way with some experiences and move the exact opposite with something else. You might be figuring out how to create something for yourself – like a business model – and are feeling encouraged by those shouting to you from the pool you’re looking into:
“Just dive in! The water feels great!”
“Take your time, and don’t forget to hang on to the sides!”
“Try this way, and then you can always reach out for this raft, I got you!”
And those times that you decide the pool isn’t for you? Well, that’s okay, too.
Trust that sometimes things will be scary, and that you can still make informed choices.
Trust that sometimes safety measures will be available, and that you can rely on them for support.
Trust that sometimes others are already in the pool, and that you can focus on them or focus on what’s right in front of you. They may give you ideas for what you want to do next, and they may give you ideas for what you never want to do.*
We all move about decisions and strategies and relationships differently. No matter which way you go about it, we all get wet.
*Learning to ‘trust’ yourself and your decisions isn’t always easy. To start tapping into your intuition, I encourage you to find a quiet place where you feel safe to envision or write down your ideas, and then take pause watching them in front of you. As feelings stir, and you feel drawn towards some more than others, begin to connect that ‘pull’ to your seat of intuition. For more info around intuition and intention, you can email me at embodyedtides@gmail.com