It is solved by swimming. (I’m lucky to have two children who know Latin and can help me tweak a familiar phrase to my own purposes.) It is solved by going down to the lake on an October afternoon and just walking into the water until there’s nothing left to do but glide forward. The awkwardness of the aging body, the little pain near the left knee, the shoulders stiff from a long flight in an economy seat, and then lugging a suitcase through an airport, a train, a bus, and up the flights of stairs onto ferry’s passenger deck. Then back down, along the ramp, and to the parking lot where the car waits.
It is solved. Or something is solved. The knot of thinking — ahh, windmilling the arms as I backstroked the length of the shore, but further out, in deep water; the knot easing out into something usable, long strands of sinew, to thread through a needle and sew into layers of cloth.
Something is solved. Or at least recognized as a possible direction: choosing geometric signs that carry meaning for me and finding a way to follow them. A meander, a spiral, a small roof. Swimming yesterday, I was thinking about a way to gather together ideas I have about form and function, about language, about a line that might carry music or the sound of the wind, the faint echo of starlight on a still night when you stand outside in nothing but a light cotton nightdress and listen. Something scrambles in the eaves nearby. Something else is also thinking.
The swimming is best in cold water. Best when the sky is blue over you like an open book. Best when a tiny fish jumps near your face. When the mergansers come to sit on a log and mutter amongst themselves. Yesterday the sand was warm when I came out of the water and I stood for a few minutes, wrapped in a big pink towel printed with flamingos.
Lakes scare me, and the ocean too. Not knowing what is below me scares me. I love swimming, but only in a pool. I love walking beside the ocean, beside a lake, or beside a creek or river, but in the water is too much for me. I wish it was different but there you are.
The water calls to you, just as the trees call to me. A different form, but the same feelings.
It’s never occured to me that there’s anything in the water to be fearful of, except for swimming happily once in Princess Louisa Inlet and then seeing lions mane jellyfish nearby! And yes, we find our familiars, don’t we? Trees, water…
Genius title! Kudos to your kiddos!!! The original, “solvitur ambulando” was one of my dad’s favourites and Theresa, I cannot tell you how many times he sent me packing, out on a trail, to regain my equilibrium/composure. I loved this post!