Water Magic

I learned to swim when I was six or seven. In Miami Beach.

Our family was on summer vacation at one of those big beachside hotels. The ones with the vast pools and cocktail bars. Not that I knew what a cocktail was. But the pool was awesome. For a small tot, it was a lake—giant and blue with funny drawings of fish on the bottom.

One day I was playing on the steps in the shallow end, and my Dad comes over and says: “It’s time you learned how to swim.”

Dad picked me up and walked along the edge of the pool and stopped. I was ready to get on his shoulders and play, like we did sometimes, but he said, “Let’s see how you do,” and he threw me in the air. But instead of going straight up, I was flying sideways. Away from him. And before I knew it, I splashed down in the middle of that big pool.

I wasn’t sure what to do so I just sank. I landed on one of the fish drawings and remember looking at it for a long time. My eyes were open but my mouth was shut. I wanted to breath but something inside told me not to.

By now I was scared, and I started to move my arms and legs, sensing I had to go up. Fast. Before I could figure out a way to do that a strong arm came around me and yanked me back to the surface. I didn’t recognize the man, but he was now holding me high in his outstretched arms. And he was laughing. Then I saw my Dad and heard him laughing, too.

“This kid doesn’t need swim lessons,” the man said. “He needs diving lessons!” He and Dad both laughed again as the man walked back to the edge of the pool and sat me on it.

I learned years later that my Dad had hired this lifeguard for $20 to teach me how to swim. And they had both agreed on the “Sink or Swim” method that some still believe in. But to cover their bets—although not avoiding a tongue-lashing from my Mom when she found out—Dad had instructed the lifeguard to be ready near the target drop zone over the fish. Just in case.

Over the next couple of days my lifeguard-teacher took his time showing me what swimming was all about, and apparently I picked it up quickly. By the end of the trip I was jumping off the low diving board and swimming all around the pool. But when no one was looking, I also practiced going down to visit my fish on the bottom. I could stay underwater much longer now that I wasn’t scared. I quickly figured out that when I needed air, all I had to do was push off with my legs and shoot up to the surface. It was fun to go down and up again. I did that over and over until I got dizzy and had to stop.

I had discovered the magic of being in the water. And especially under the water. Underwater, everything is silent and soft. And somehow more special and wonderful than above. It’s an enchanting realm down there. And I enter it whenever I can.

— Harald

P.S. I’m working on a new book that involves going deep underwater. Deeper than you can imagine. I’ll let you in on it from time to time. And also explain how and why I incorporate underwater “bobbing” in my quotidian routine. More to come.