I went to the pool on Thursday. I hadn’t had much sleep following the constraints of 3 days of short shifts. Although I really enjoy many aspects of my new job, it puts me in a restricted frame of mind and I sometimes get a bit down if I take on a few extra hours as I have to stifle my vivid imagination. There’s only so much creativity you can indulge in at the chewing gum cabinet without getting a benevolent slap on the wrist for being slow. I prefer to call it being meticulously detailed but it’s a quality that isn’t always appreciated in the fast paced field of retail and shop floor work. My creative thoughts flurry back with fervent passion as soon as I get home, a few looser days ahead of me.

For the first 10-15 minutes of most pool sessions, I feel sluggish. Everything’s an effort as my body gets accustomed to movement again. I can feel my body is out of flow as I struggle with the warm ups, my legs and core aslumber from inertia and unnatural movement. I’ve been holding my breath a lot in case I get something wrong at work. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, there I am. In flow. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing anymore. I gaze glazedly at the water in front of me, my thoughts momentarily on hold. I love this feeling and only started experiencing it outside music performance from the end of last year. It’s like being in a trance, my mind purified of all its clutter. I stop listening to the instructor’s orders, barked above the disco music. Her voice becomes a distant background murmur. The water feels like a second home, a place that’s stark and hostile at first when I plunge into its engulfing shocking coolness. Its smart slap soon turns into embracing gentle caresses, my limbs and joints supported and encouraged to push to extremes. I lengthen my arms and legs, fulfilling my body’s potential. I never understood how fitness fanatics can be thus. Now I do, and the hit of endorphins rushing through my body is potent.

In flow, everything is easy. Effortless.

This morning I went for a walk. I took the high path which I’ve put off again and again. Not today. Up I went, huffing and puffing, trying not to look back for fear of, well, fear. Sherpa steps. Must remember to take Sherpa steps. What if I slip and fall? Who would find me? Who would know? Who cares? What if?

I reach the insurmountable summit and look back in disbelief and surprise at my achievement. It was by no means a mountain but in my mind it was Everest. The mystery of beyond was revealed. It was flat and the path ahead looked intriguing and untrodden.

It’s felt as though Spring has almost sprung with flouncy crocustard carpets of luxurious velvety yellow, and their vividly violacious mauve sisters. Suddenly we’re pulled back into Winter with the slap of horizontal rain reinforced by bustling winds to remind us we’re only just in March.

All of me, every last ounce and inch is itching for a softer sweeter season ahead. I remember with gratitude the midsummer smells sitting in my kitchen listening to the mechanical rhythmic rattle of the boiler. With gratitude.