Finding The Fountain

I hadn’t felt anything like this in years.  

I stood on the dock, feeling small and exposed.  I wore only a pair of swim trunks as I squinted at the dark water without my glasses.  It was 6:30 AM, and only 10 minutes ago, I was warm and insulated from the world by a down comforter.  The ignorance imposed by my heavy eyelids was bliss. 

Now I was shivering, standing in a slight breeze, trying to act like a leader by joining our lifeguards on their morning distance swim. 

I hate the water.  Always have.

One by one, the lifeguards dropped into the water and began wriggling their way toward another dock; a quarter of a mile away, still screened by the morning mist.

Now it was my turn.  I held my arms folded tightly across my chest.  Did I mention that I hate the water?  I plunged in, clawing at the air as I did, hoping to find some invisible ladder that might lead me back to bed. 

The water took my breath away.  I gasped for air as I came to the surface, but somehow I also felt so…

good.

It was like appearing in the middle of a commercial for bottled water.  Everything felt so cold, but so… clean.  My skin felt tight and cold and yet as my muscles flexed and churned, I began to feel warm inside.

Even now, half an hour after toweling off, my skin feels cold to the touch, but the chill only makes my warm hat and sweater feel...

warmer,

softer.

Even my coffee tastes better. 

I feel accomplished.  Invincible.  I feel responsibly “type ‘A’.”

In 10 minutes I went from groggy and unresponsive to invigorated and playful.  I’ve never doubted that I’m an emotional person, capable of being influenced by my surroundings.  But my cold swim reminded not just my mind, but my muscles, tendons, nerve endings, and seemingly every inch of my body of what it feels like to be 16, strong, and fearless.

Why would water bring this on?

Shouldn’t my animal survival instincts have instructed me to return to bed?

As I sit, enjoying the overwhelming softness of a wool sweater on a cool Maine morning, my question is this:  Are paradoxes really an anomaly, or are they actually the just a routine fact of life?

I hate swimming; the weather was cold, and yet…  The same water that sent me gasping to the surface on first impact has made me feel like a teenager again, if only for a few hours.

Instead of searching for the fountain of youth at GNC, maybe we should just jump into a fountain.

Think of the other paradoxical rules that govern our lives: 

The key to keeping peaceful relationships seems to be confrontation.

Want to teach a teenager a lesson?  Try just telling them the information, and see how far that gets you.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast – just ask any surgeon.

We can be emotionally paralyzed by an overabundance of freedom, and freed by the familiarity of routine and commitment. 

The world is full of paradox.  Eventually, life begins to feel like a game of chicken, in which we drive straight toward disaster simply because we so intently wish to avert it. 

I know that swimming, an activity I dread, made me feel great.  Beyond that I have only questions.

Every time we exercise, we probably toe the blurry line between discipline and masochism.  Is this healthy or harmful?

Do our personal paradoxes echo in our lives as evidence of a more eternal source?  Do they show us a more lasting truth about the way we were designed? 

Pharisees lose.  Tax Collectors win.

 “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first shall be your slave.”

I don’t have all the answers to my questions.  But I know truth when I see it. 

And I know that the best thing about my steaming mug of coffee this morning is the cold water that preceded it.