This morning, I went for a solo swim for the first time in a long time. When I was swimming every day, I often swam alone. My commitment to getting my body into a body of water came first; finding someone with whom to share the experience came second. Now that I am no longer bound by that dailiness, it can be easy to opt out if there isn’t anyone else swimming at a time that works for me. Swimming together is more fun. 

Still, sometimes, swimming alone is just the thing I need. Swimming alone feels like a meditation, a centering, and an opportunity to pay attention in a way I tend not to when I’m chatting with a buddy. 

And at the Albany Bulb, it’s hard for me to ever really feel alone. This morning, there was that one dog that runs up and down the shoreline barking into the waves as if it’s his job to keep the tides at bay. There was the woman who comes often with her black lab, and soon she was chatting with the man who walks his fluffy white spaniel every day. Colleen can surely name each of these dogs and their people, but even though I can’t, I feel as if I know them. They are a familiar part of my world.

Once I was gliding out, acclimating to the cold and remembering to breathe, I saw that Kaushik had arrived at the circle and was getting changed, so I knew I wouldn’t be the only swimmer in the water. Watching the ducks in the distance, I wondered if they were buffleheads and noticed someone on shore was looking at them, too. The woman peering through her binoculars looked like Susan; an impression confirmed when she started waving at me. I waved back and felt the delight of belonging to a community, of knowing and being known.