My week was long and weird, and my weekend was also. I was recovering from a surprise sickness and on Friday I’d spent two hours getting my beard trimmed before having dinner and drinks with some old friends from school. It is very much a surreal, out of body experience, reconnecting with people you’ve known for so long and realizing you’re no longer the weird kid in 6th grade math class or the loud friend in choir, you’re suddenly a 21 year old bearded man with thinning hair who’s actively working to stop weighing more than he’d like to. My roommate and I met them at a local brewery and I had a cider I really liked the taste of. I felt overly sweaty and said dumb things and put my foot in my mouth, so not too much had changed. Except one of my friends was talking about all the study abroad experiences she’d had and her job at a nursing home and I was talking about my CPAP machine and how I often worry I have the body and constitution of a 50 year old man. I surely don’t truly understand what a mid-life crisis actually is, but I’m constantly panicked that I’m in the midst of one already. The sheer volume and depth of my anxieties is not fit to post on the internet, you see. 
So that’s where I’m at Saturday morning. Tired, confused, overheating from the 80 degree weather, going back through every decision and mistake I’d ever made, wondering how I got to this exact moment, still somewhat delirious and insane. Katy asks if I want to go to the beach. Sure, why not. We get there around 1:00. The sand is too hot. There’s a loud annoying man near our spot who simultaneously yells at his son for not swimming correctly while arguing with his dad over the phone to tell him he’s an asshole and an idiot, flagrantly ignoring the No Alcohol On The Beach sign while his girlfriend sunbathes next to him and chuckles. This goes on for hours. The beach is also covered, on both sides as far as the eye could see, with loud screaming families and curious seagulls. I get changed and remembered why I’d stopped swimming so often: A lack of confidence in displaying my oddly proportioned body, a pale, slightly hairy sack of meat with randomly situated stretch marks, and somewhat confronting conical nipples. As I return to my chair and resume sinking further into the sand, I remind myself that the side glances I believe I was receiving were surely not intended for me. There’s no shame at the beach, even if you worry you look like a weirdo. And even if I was as skinny as I’d like to be right now, my skin would still be pale enough to reflect a lighthouse beam. So hush, mind. 
We wade out into the water, instantly shocked by the intense cold. I shout “HYPOTHERMIA!” a few times while awkwardly trying to determine where to put my arms. I finally get psyched up enough to let myself fall into the water with a “1-2-3!” We begin to drift away from shore and I start to loosen up and feel stronger and happier. Memories wander back in, memories of being the kid who would swim upwards of six hours at the YMCA, waiting for other semi-abandoned confused gym children to notice me and strike up fleeting friendships. You find the right one and you get a best friend for the day, running along the track, water fights at the pool, awe-filled wanders through the library, and badly staged games of pool in the rec center. The Woodbury YMCA has everything you would need, after all, and beyond my own father, parents are too fixated on their workouts to care what kinds of adventure their children are embarking upon. 
I race Katy a couple times. I win, then she wins because I got a cramp, then I win again. I’m too proud of it. We see if we can still do back flips and front flips in the water. My technique looks ludicrous, but I’ve perfected it. In the corner of the pool after the other kids went home. I would practice my flips and see how long I could hold my breath, returning pruny, red-eyed and triumphant, forcing myself to read Andy Griffiths books to stave off the exhaustion on the drive home. I show Katy how excellent I am at the Dead Man’s Float. This too, I’ve perfected, though it’s been so long. My body is naturally quite buoyant and I discovered how much I enjoy just floating there with my face in the water when I worked at the summer camp. Of course, my coworkers were not amused or impressed, during the staff trip or beyond. “You’re the only one who hasn’t had water safety training, John!” “It’s too realistic John, it’s creepy!” “No, don’t try to swim to Canada, John, you won’t make it!” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Katy tells me the lifeguard had her eye on me. Each time I play dead her hand goes to her whistle, and the tugboat lifeguard behind us has her radio at the ready. “I’m relaxing!” I want to yell. I don’t. 
I slowly realize I can nail the DMF from nearly any angle. Floating with my arms and legs splayed out and my face planted in the water, the reverse looking up, and even new poses and angles. I can come at it with just a bit of shoulder like I’ve just bobbed to the surface or been in a terrible accident. I can extend both legs out and slump over a bit like the splits went terribly wrong. I can do just the feet sticking out. I’ve discovered a deeply rewarding hidden talent. I begin to daydream. Dad always said he was a bit bummed I stopped acting after high school and stopped doing theater. I don’t know what I’m doing. But what if, this is the key? What if I join the cast of an extremely low-budget nautical based police procedural? I could play Corpse In The Harbor every week. When the lieutenant slaps an envelope on the detective’s desk and says “There’s a body in the water” I could be THE body. I could be the Daniel Day Lewis of waterlogged, slightly bloated corpses. The possibilities are endless. 
We drift out further. I, much like Moana, am desperate to see how far I’ll go. We stopped being able to touch sand a while ago, but I’ve achieved a new level of zen. Why did I ever leave the water? What did I think the land could offer me? I float on my back and stare into the sky. In the water, I’m a superhero. I can do anything. Everything drifts away and I can just feel happy and peaceful and ACHPTH! My acid reflux kicks in. Snot starts coming out of my mouth and I struggle to breathe. The hollow, slightly painful, pit of hunger opens up in my stomach again, and I can’t tell if my body wants to eat or throw up. I sigh. Yes, that’s right, I’m 21 years old and my body does whatever it wants when it wants. We wade back to shore. 
Memories keep flooding back at me. Summers at Uncle Pat’s, making pizza and snorkeling through the shallow end to clean the pool. Playing water volleyball. Carrying Owen down the hill that one Fourth of July because we couldn’t get his prosthetic leg wet. Having lunch during the staff trip and enjoying the cool Canadian waters. Zip-lining at that week camp at Castaway for Sam’s birthday and seeing him laugh when I hit the water balls first and convulsed in terrible pain. Hanging out with grandma at her gym and navigating the hard plastic animal floaties. Going down the water slide that had that music player full of 2000’s kids movie soundtracks, watching every kid play All-Star. Weekends at Ryan’s pool, trying to swim down as far as I could without my ears exploding, learning how delicious deviled eggs are. School excursions at the Waterpark of America, getting stuck on that Valley Fair water ride with the other Pillsbury campers, struggling to figure out how to dive at the Fridley Community Center. God, I love to swim.
We sit down and I apply sunscreen. It won’t help, I’ll go to sleep sweaty and burnt. Ironic, since I actually care about not getting skin cancer now. It feels like a much more prescient threat than when I was a kid and parents or camp counselors would yell “BUT JOHN” as I ran off. I snack on some pretzels. Mmmm! These are surprisingly delicious! In fact, I dare say these are the best pretzels I’ve ever eaten! Is it the sunscreen on my fingers, what’s this flavor I’m tasting? I read a bit and bake in the sun. I still feel a little sick. I haven’t quite given myself enough time to recover. But at the same time, I would really like to get reacquainted with nautical John. At least to prep for my audition for Law & Order SEA.