Same strokes, same pool, completely different world. Thirty-five minutes was all it took to transform my swim from cramped restriction to pure freedom.
The pool was packed today, so I squeezed into the only available space - the shallow kids' lane. With every other turn, my knees scraped against the elevated floor. My feet kept bumping into boundaries that felt too small, too tight. The scraping was more than just physical discomfort - it was my body telling me I'd outgrown this space.
I spotted three people in the deeper end, chatting and soaking. One was a beginner, practising basic breathing techniques. I watched them for a while, debating whether to ask for some swimming space. But something held me back. Would I come across as presumptuous? Would asking for space seem like I was suggesting the beginner move to the shallow end? The thought of being rude, of appearing haughty, kept me quiet.
So I stayed in my cramped lane, accepting the restriction. And here's the thing - it was okay. I was still swimming, still moving, still achieving what I came to do. I guess sometimes we don't have to fight for everything we want. Sometimes patience creates its own kind of space.
Then, thirty-five minutes in, they left. I swung over the barriers into the deeper pool.
The moment I stood in the water and stretched my legs fully - that's when I felt the shift. Pure freedom. My first stroke confirmed it, and suddenly I was swimming with renewed energy and motivation. Same movements, same destination from one end to the other, but the feeling was completely different.
It struck me how much the environment shapes our experience. The same activity can feel restrictive or liberating depending on the space we're given - or the space we claim for ourselves.
The pool taught me something simple but profound: we can make do with smaller spaces while we wait for larger ones. And both have their place in our journey.