Swimming as Allegory for Living
When I say I don’t know how to swim, I mean I never learned to do it properly. That they tried to teach me, but gave up when I couldn’t figure how to turn my head just enough to breathe, yet not sink. I mean I can do some half-assed version of the front crawl in which my face stays submerged for as long as I can hold my breath, while my arms slice through water in unintended tandem, and my feet paddle relentlessly like a runner duck’s, propelling my body forward in small bursts, until it feels like my lungs will explode if I don’t allow my head to break through the surface that very instant to take in as much air as I possibly can, even if the lost momentum causes me to sink like a stone. When I say I don’t know how to swim, I mean I never learned to do it painlessly.
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