Something about swimming (IV)
The quality of my world is blue

There must be a reason for this colour. We vary the shape, add an impressive five-prong fountain and maybe a quaint little bridge to swim under; even go to the extent of giving the tiles a different shade. Nevertheless, the color remains.

I once came across a story of a woman who had suffered a miscarriage and lost her husband both in the same year. It was difficult for her to go through the normal procession of grief and loss and she continued to oscillate between the different stages, never finding a resolution. While cruising about numbly in her car one day, she turned into the driveway of the local swimming pool and recalled how she as a child had enjoyed the blue and coolness. With clean, simple movements, one could cut through water. Or anything for that matter. Thus began the weekly trips, then twice weekly. With each stroke, she found herself feeling again. With each lap completed, another lap is planned and when she reaches her quota of laps, it is as though a part of her had left behind a bit of grief.

Even as I am in the blue today, I find it a bit far-fetched. Swimming, like most other activities, work to distract. But after the shower and maybe five hours of endorphin surge, you are like a low-batteryed energiser bunny still thrashing about in your own sea of problems.
My theory is this: swimming laps enable you to continue being in emotional circles. Back and forth, back and forth.

You bring congruence to your entirety. Because by the time you are done with all hundred and ten laps, you get a good night's sleep.