Just pack your bag
On taking the next small step
This morning I enjoyed a gorgeous swim. I discovered the pool pictured above seven months ago. You may remember. The first time made me write this.
A few weeks ago I received the email I’ve been waiting for: I’d reached the top of the membership waiting list.
I excitedly paid my joining fee plus my first month's subs. But it was not until today - 22 days later - that I’ve been. Despite loving swimming. Despite loving the pool. Despite longing to be there regularly.
A total of 21 times, I have talked myself out of it:
It’s too cold. It’s raining. The traffic. The wrong time of the month. I’ve just blow-dried my hair. The kids need me here. This costume can’t possibly be seen in public - it sags.
They’re reasons - but barely.
The place is heavenly. It’s slap-bang in the middle of my local town town centre - but heavenly, nonetheless.
Before entering the water you have to shower naked. [You put your togs back on afterwards - it’s not that kind of pool].
Why naked showers? The water is only mildly chlorinated, which means we must all be sparkling clean. The lack of horrible chemical smell means it’s almost like swimming in a lake; only better [I have an irrational fear of leeches] and there’s no slimy weeds.
Oh yes - and it’s heated - the steam rising as if from a natural spring on the edge of a mountain.
When I swim on my back, all there is is the sky, and the trees that line the garden outside. Sometimes their leaves fall into the water. Each time one lands in my lane, I scoop it up and place it on the side, where it rests like a mini-kayak waiting to be launched.
The building was originally an all-women’s pool, built in 1901. The way it’s been renovated is exquisite, the vivid colours somehow honouring the original architecture. It oozes a feminine energy that never fails to stir me [can you tell?]
And as for the giant hot tub, it’s positively womb-like. Divine. The best place to finish a swim on a rainy, cold, November morning.
Who knows why I have encountered such resistance to allowing myself all of that, for 21 days straight, but I suspect it’s primarily along the lines of this:
It’s a Wednesday - you should be working - you have a deadline - you should get up and get to your desk. Pronto. That’s what Wednesday’s are for.
But last night I realised differently.
On a rare night walk, the sky was clear, the stars as bright as I’ve ever seen. As me and my husband stood by the gate where he proposed almost seven years ago, and we said the usual ‘we should do this more often’ I looked up at the sky.
Venus winked at me - I swear she did - at least I think it was Venus [it may have been a plane].
Regardless, something about that sparkling light had me declare something else. Not another empty intention. But this:
“I’m packing my bag.”
I read once that one way to fulfill our dreams is to just do the next thing. However tiny. Just do that. Then the next. Go gently. Then the next.
Seven months ago it was putting my name down on the waiting list. Last night it was packing my bag.
It took exactly two minutes to throw my swim kit into my rucksack - and as I did, I knew I’d be in the pool before it was fully light.
Today I am feeling grateful for that wisdom. For all the ways it can apply. For how creating more of what makes us feel alive is often about taking small steps.
As I allow myself to daydream about the year ahead, from my state of post-hot tub bliss, a picture is emerging.
I’m swimming, at least three mornings a week. Afterwards, once I’m dry and cosy, I write for an hour or so in the beautiful café that overlooks the pool. As I write I’m sipping tea and eating a bacon sandwich, whilst the traffic dies down, ready for me to glide home unimpeded.
Yes please.
In fact, I might just pack my bag tonight, and throw in my laptop.
Here’s to taking the next step. The small ones. The big ones. The ones we feel inspired to take.
Here’s to finding a pace that is sweet and right for us [I know - I know - I say that all the time - but I need to remind myself, again and again.]
Here’s to finding ways to make the journey delicious, even when the world is crumbling around us. Especially when the world is crumbling around us, so we can bring into being what wants to come next.
Thank you for being here.
With love and shimmies,
Claire
Find me elsewhere:
Live on Zoom on Wednesday 6th December: How to Write More Like Yourself
Instagram: @clairemackinnonwrites
Website: clairemackinnon.com
LinkedIn: Claire Mackinnon
That pool looks heavenly. What beautiful, starry inspiration.
Bag is packed, dear friend, bag is packed! 😊
And this is *lovely* writing!