26 Days: Learning to Flow with Life’s Rhythm

My legs were so weak they could barely carry me. The biggest, ugliest cold sore had taken over my lip, and a painful sore throat was knocking me down. I had new directions to take, places to go, dreams to chase, goals to achieve, and plans to bring to life.

Was I supposed to put them all aside now?

Lately, whenever I make plans, life seems to play the game differently. Uncertainty had become my new companion, asking me to piece together a puzzle without knowing where anything belonged. Was life testing how open and adaptable I could be? Could I loosen my grip on my plans and emotions?

My head hurt for days. All I wanted was to sleep, hide beneath my blankets, and stare at the ceiling with empty eyes.  COVID had found its way into my body, as if to say, “Hello, it’s time to slow down.”

For 26 days, life put everything on hold and invited me to see things differently. Was I trapped in my body or was this a chance to notice the tides moving through my emotions and thoughts? Somewhere in those 26 days, something magical happened. As I lay in bed, I felt an invisible power holding me like a delicate piece of glass, not too tight or too loose, but just enough. It held me with compassion, care, and balance. Too tight, and I would break; too loose, and I would fall. That gentle hold created space for healing. It taught me that I could pause, float in life without fixing everything, and release my expectations.

What made those 26 days harder was being unable to do the one thing that always brings me back to myself, clears my mind, reconnects me with my body, and helps me see life more clearly: immerse myself in water, float effortlessly, or dive deep enough to silence the world.

Swimming.

On the 27th day, when I finally returned to the water, I felt only one thing:

Gratitude.

Gratitude for my health, my body, everything I have, and the uncontrollable fragility of life.

Before I got sick, I was training to swim 10k at the Oceanman Ibiza race. But those 26 days swept away nearly all my preparation. I managed just one training swim five days before the race. So, I changed my plan. Instead of swimming 10k, I decided to swim 5k. I just wanted to celebrate being healthy enough to return to the water and move through it with gratitude without attaching my happiness to an outcome. But life had other plans, again!

On race day, thunderstorms and rain disrupted everything. There was another invitation to surrender control and flow with life’s rhythm. The races were moved to Saturday, and the redesigned 5k course turned into more than 6k. My arms felt like jelly in the rough water, and I hit the wall of exhaustion several times. But I wouldn’t let physical exhaustion overpower my determination, so I kept going until I crossed the finish line.

And somehow, this became the happiest swim of my life. I was happy because I was there. My body could move. The water could hold me again. I could feel the joy of being alive without needing the moment to be anything more than it was. Those almost 6.5 kilometers reminded me to be grateful for what is in front of me without resisting it.

Once again, I understood that happiness lives in the journey itself.

Life will always place obstacles in our paths. It will challenge our patience, flexibility, and ability to adapt. It will change our plans, interrupt our dreams, and sometimes take away the things that make us feel most alive. But it will also let us choose whether to be grateful or resentful.

Live like water.