I never shy away from an Aussie sunrise (the water is another matter).
It’s summer here in the northern hemisphere, which means a lot of us are near the water. And I’m currently in Australia, which means I’m always near water.
So before anything else, some genuinely useful (possibly life-saving) advice.
Drowning doesn’t look like drowning.
I read a piece by Mario Vittone, a former Coast Guard rescue swimmer. It’s good literal advice, but it’s also a great metaphor that I of course have to riff on.
We think drowning is loud. We think it looks like splashing and waving and shouting for help. But it almost never is.
A drowning person usually can’t call out because the body puts breathing ahead of speech.
And they can’t wave because their arms are instinctively pressing down on the water to keep their mouth above it.
They’re upright and quiet. And they may have twenty to sixty seconds before they go under.
So the warning sign isn’t noise. It’s the absence of it.
I take this one personally, because I’m not a strong swimmer. When I’m out in the waves, I would very much like someone keeping half an eye on me at all times.
But of course, this is not just about swimming. This is about life’s whole catastrophe in all its glory and mess.
There are people around you who are drowning too (not literally).
In a relationship that’s gone hard …
In work that’s gone heavy …
In a life that’s moving too fast …
And they’re almost certainly not splashing or waving or calling for help.
So look around at the people you know and love, and ask the question: who might you reach a hand to?
Then (and this is the hardest part) turn it on yourself.
My guess is there’s a corner of your life where you’re not quite treading water. Where it’s getting hard.
And if you’re anything like me, you might go quiet.
You conserve your breath and get in your head. You don’t splash, you don’t shout, you don’t ask for help.
Consider this your permission to say it.
Or at the very least, acknowledge that this is hard right now.
It doesn’t have to be today. But soon.
Reach for a sandbar, a strong arm, a few kind words that will help get you through.
Because the thing about drowning (both the real kind and the metaphorical kind) … we were never meant to spot it alone.
It’s summer. I hope yours is a lovely one.
I also don’t want you to drown.
