Swimming is one of the few actions that makes my body happy. Swimming in mid-September in northern Nova Scotia takes a special devotion to aquatic bliss. As I stood on the shore in a waning day of summer, one of the few days not boiling or drowning its visitors, waves lapping in a rhythm of dare-ya dare-ya, I pondered how badly I really wanted to swim. Perhaps just savour the sea air, turquoise sky and gently-warmed sand? Maybe wade in, just to my knees? But the body knows what the body knows, that the bright ball of energy that is ME at the base of my spine WANTS TO SWIM … NOW. And with that clarity of thought came the brilliant awareness of how all of this is a metaphor for the process that allowed me to reclaim that clarity in the first place.

The answer is always YES in a quantum energy life.

My beach outing follows my fresh emergence from Decloaking and Living Authentically, a five-day intensive gathering of women seeking to reclaim their essence, reconnect with their bodies, and live their lives as creators of every moment, awareness by awareness, and choice by choice.  A week ago, I may have dipped my toe in the surf, shivered and backed away. I should read, I should enjoy the view, and my standby favourite, I should write, the stories would run.

Today I feel the pull of habits versus truth, habits formed from a childhood of avoiding danger, risk, and mistakes that no longer serve the life of an adult yearning to create, do and be all that is possible, and then some. And today, I allowed the chance to choose differently.

I have spent much of my life standing on the shore of the great expanse that is life itself, admiring it, loving it, longing to float and splash and travel through it, curious about what it held in the depths and beyond the horizon. And, I had made myself content to build sand castles and beach art with whatever drifted to shore, telling myself it was a great life of my choosing while underneath the truth of my experience, compressed and overlooked, slowly turned my skin to stone and my energy to rage. It’s too cold, too dangerous, too much work, too risky, the stories ran as I numbly gathered sand and scavenged the shore for supplies, you’re just fine here, doing what your ancestors did, what everyone around you is doing, proud traditions, hang in there, discipline and dedication will gain you great rewards. As a writer I began to wear thin from all the chatter within. Spinning stories endlessly in life left little energy or enthusiasm for creation of any kind, including those of words. The few pieces I managed to write were squeezed and silenced by an increasing number of stories and habits using everything from deception to outright bullying to ‘protect’ me and the life I had come to know as mine. Until one day, my divine signal within that is actually me shouted ENOUGH and I began to remember parts of me long buried in the sand, started to excavate, dust off, own and release the stories that, out of my awareness, had grabbed the wheel and were running my life.

Conversations like Decloaking put you back in the driver’s seat of your life, and in fact, insist you stay there, minute by minute, choice by choice. No handing off responsibility to a therapist or drug or trusted friend. You are the expert of you. I am the expert of me. Empowering? Absolutely! But in this moment when I’m about to plunge into freezing cold water, well, what the hell do I do now?

I stared at the water, knowing what I know. I braced against it. I’ll freeze. There will be other days. Curl up in the sand with a book and be done with it. I breathe,  feel the warmth of me at the base of my spine, the tingling of anticipation as I imagine the cool caress of the salt water, floating weightless, nowhere to be except in this moment. I wanted it. And I allowed that I could have it. Uncomfortable, maybe. Trust that it’s worth it.

Wading in to my knees was easy. Water creeping up to my waist, hoo boy that’s chilly. I stop, breathe, let the sun warm my back, swirl my hands through the surf to slowly acclimatize. A choice point: go back to the warm sand and embrace half-hearted joy in getting half wet, or breathe, surrender, and invite the full experience I want to unfold.

I breathe, relax into the gentle rocking of the waves, lean back and let the water take me. A brief gasp as the northern surf engulfed me … then an absolute peace. As I swam, I cooled to the water and it warmed to me. I floated, bobbed, felt its strength in supporting me, gave thanks that I live where this expansive and beautiful vista is mine to visit any time.  After a few minutes of bliss, a new truth emerged: it was indeed bloody freakin’ cold. So I  swam to shore, towelled off and lounged on the sand for an hour watching seals bob for lunch and seagulls dot the sky. I was also making connections, feeling how the sensation of surrendering to the momentary shock of the water was very much like surrendering to a new or different story arc, one that may seem to be more work or too risque or headed in an unknown direction. I’m mindful now of how often I brace against writing into the ‘unknown’, where I don’t have deadline and outline and word count clearly laid out, how unwilling I am to feel the momentary darkness of the unknown even though I know that it will lead to something awesome.

It was a perfect afternoon, perfect moment by moment, and a perfection I would not have experienced if I hadn’t trusted what I wanted, surrendered, and opened to whatever happened next.

How many times do we rob ourselves of what we want, of what energizes or inspires or fuels us, because we tell ourselves no, we’re better off without it, that’s weird, no one else is, that’s selfish, it’s scary … Paul Simon sang of 50 ways to leave a lover, while each of us know at least 537 ways to deny ourselves of anything and everything from an extra cookie to the trip of a lifetime because, oh well, this and that, blah blah blah. It’s a life and a choice. Life is swimming in September, relying on my body to know the temperature and conditions rather than a calendar and childhood admonishment that you’ll catch your death ... Trusting yourself is life, every time. There is no more powerful space to write from, or live from.

Thanks for reading,

Jennifer

Jennifer Hatt is an author, communications consultant, publishing doula and CODE Model Coach™ .
ownyourstorynow.com

To learn more about Decloaking and Living Authentically and other offerings in the WEL-Systems® body of knowledge,
visit https://wel-systems.com/
the brilliant website of its founder, Louise LeBrun, https://louiselebrun.ca/)
and the powerful offerings of CODE Model Coaches™ Stela Murrizi, https://sparkingthesacred.com/
and Sheila Winter Wallace, http://bodygateways.com/