Cast Away

It's late. I just returned home from visiting my family in Morgan and the apartment is a mess. There's work and schoolwork to do. I'm worried about health insurance and how I can't seem to retain that sensation of mastery or security -- more like that first breath taken with the water just below my neck: I never really learned how to swim in deep water.

But that reminds me -- I remember my swimming instructor. She noticed my reluctance amid the others and pulled me aside. She stayed with me until I learned to breath properly and ignore the depth beneath me. Sentimental? You bet it is. I'm infused with it. I once termed it "romanticism" but that too was frightened reluctance. I'm idealistic too. And I wonder why we shy from that term.

And I write this to all of you because I tutored someone today who really listened and marked her page in purple and green. It's all I can think about. I loved the way it felt to teach someone. And I know we strive to emphasize our lack of authority and soften our vocabulary concerning our role as tutors, but I'm not talking about superiority -- she taught me more than I would like to consider.

I suppose I "misunderstand a little less completely" why the instructor still swam at my side. We're all tired and coming home to a messy apartment. The water really never recedes. That's why we take swimming lessons.

Idealistic? Of course it is.