Flaming Wordly Posessions

I picked up swimming again recently.

It was sort of a spur of the moment type of thing.

"Here are your keys. Hope you enjoy your new apartment," a girl with bangs covering half of her face and a slightly crooked but lovable smile said to me last week after I handed her my rent check, and just like that I moved into my new pad.

It took me two days to realize that the indoor pool was on the first floor, right next to the gym. Usually, I'd make tired excused to not work out, like, "Oh, I don't wanna walk/drive to the gym. It's too far. I'd rather sit around here and pointlessly stare at my computer screen all afternoon instead." But now I was out of excuses because, well, all I'd have to do is change into workout clothes and descend three flights of stairs and , boom, I'd be right there. Ready to work out. Yay.

I've always enjoyed swimming, though. I liked being around water and ever since I was a little kid, my parents always lived next to a river, took trips to a sea or an ocean. During my teenage years, I remember being jealous of my peers whose parents' had a pool in their backyards. I knew that the thing I'd miss the most when moving to Ohio for grad school would be the ocean. I was right.

But now I've got my own place, and a pool that comes with it. And last night around 10pm, just for the hell of it, I changed into a swim suit, grabbed a towel, and went down to the pool for a late night swim. Swimming is like riding a bike. No matter how much time passes, you never forget how to do it - but you do need a few laps back and forth across the pool to feel every muscle of your body come alive again.

I was blissfully unaware when my phone began to buzz by the edge of the pool, informing me of the phone call from The Neighbor. At that moment, it felt good just to swim. At that moment, it felt like home. Michael Phelps, watch out.