Braver than me

Throughout my life I’ve had friends tell me they wish they were as brave or confident or as willing to put their foot in their mouth as me. Hearing that brings up a mix of emotions. One being that they must not realize having a filter isn’t something I’m working at, it just isn’t there. The other, more constant one, is that I’m really not brave at all.

In high school, I really REALLY wanted to play soccer. I had several friends who played. I even went to watch some of them play indoor soccer. I was terrified. I had never been into sports. I was not graceful, at all. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being good enough. I wanted some sort of assurance that I would be at least mostly good. I never played soccer.

I’m now 37 and just now taking a chance at this whole idea of being a writer. I’ve wanted to do it my entire life. I’ve just now come to the point where all my f*cks have been given so I’m out of them. I’m going to try it and at least, if I never get published, I know that I tried. Really tried.

Today, I took another step toward being brave. I took a swim lesson with a friend. I can swim. I can float. I can tread water. I can’t, no, I won’t put my face into the water without something covering my nose.

I’m trying to get fit again. I’m trying to take off those pounds I gained back after taking them off and keeping them off for years. But also, I miss feeling energetic and strong. I mostly miss feeling strong. After having issues with my hips always being too tight and my knee sometimes bothering me, I naturally thought about swimming for exercise. Except I don’t want to hurt myself by doing it wrong. Or put my face in the water.

After today, I can say that I really enjoyed swimming for exercise. It hurts, I can tell it’s working my muscles. And I still don’t like water going in my nose. I might even legitimately feel like I’m going to drown and stop swimming to make sure I’m not going to drown. That might have happened. More than once.


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