Something in the Water
on the lookout for my people and a place to belong
At the age of forty-five, I’ve started to wonder if the search to find my people will ever end. I can still remember walking through the maze of cafeteria tables when I began school in a new city in the fourth grade and the relief when someone waved me over to their table. Or navigating the sea of clubs and organizations the first week of college, wondering where I belonged.
When I moved into adulthood and even into marriage, the search didn’t ease up. I didn’t seem to fit with the career women or the moms because I had yet to become either one. There have been moments when the connection has happened and maybe it lasts a few years or even ten, but from my experience not many of us get to find our people and then call it done for life.
These last few years the elusiveness of holding onto belonging has become even more evident. Like so many others during the pandemic (and the accompanying political atmosphere) our family began to experience tension in the relationships within our church and homeschool community. Friendships that had seemed sealed tight for a decade were springing leaks that couldn’t be plugged. For some of those drowning relationships, we made the choice to leave, and for some, the leaving was chosen for us.
I’m not particularly fond of the word “tribe”. The word suggests to me an almost unbreakable membership, a fierce loyalty within a group of people. That’s a wonderfully safe feeling from inside the tribe but it can feel like an amputation if you get ousted from it. Our family landed on an island alone, though we had it each other, which is definitely much more than what some people had over the last few years. But it meant that as a woman, disoriented and once again searching for belonging, I also had to witness and bear with the pain of my four kids and my husband as they experienced the same thing.
Some of the rough waters have settled down over the last year. And I do have people. People I’ve had for twenty years and new people. But it’s also a changing season of life as my adult kids start their own lives and I figure out what shapes my days now that my career as a homeschool mother has ended.
All of this might help explain why I found myself crying over a movie about men’s synchronized swimming. First of all, I’m not generally a movie crier. I’m much better at laughing at movies, which also happened often in this movie. When Swimming with Men (based on a true story) opens, middle-aged Eric seems to be asking a lot of questions I’ve asked myself over the last year. Does what I’m doing every day matter? Do the people I love really still love me, this forty-five year old version of me?
As part of his weekly routine, Eric swims laps at the local pool. Early in the film there is a wide shot of Eric, in a particularly lost moment, when he allows himself to sink to the bottom of the pool. The camera pans out until Eric is just a small dot alone in the cavernous pool, capturing a familiar loneliness. The camera moves in close again and multiple sets of hands reach down and pull him up to the surface where he realizes he is surrounded by a group of male synchronized swimmers. He hears a voice:
“Listen to the rhythm, Eric, and let yourself go.”
Unexpectedly, he finds himself swept up into the odd formations of their synchronized swim routine.
After this initial baptism, the men take Eric to the pub and issue an invitation to join their club:
Luke: You should know that this club isn’t just a club, it’s an idea, a protest-
Eric: A protest?
Colin: Against the end of dreams-
Kurt: against the meaningless of life-
Ted: against who we’ve become.
Luke: We couldn’t help noticing a certain kinship.
This isn’t the part where my tears came but when tears did escape, they were happy tears in support of Eric finding his people.
There are three things about this club of misfits that gives me hope.
It’s a mash-up of ages and life stages. Young, old, pot-bellied, thin, married, widowed, wealthy, and not. A group like this leaves a lot of room open for who might make the cut. Maybe there is still a place for a forty-five year old with more curves than angles, who struggles daily with chronic pain, who tends to be a little careful in making new friendships.
Their passion for the sport was something new the men discovered about themselves. Eric hadn’t dreamt his whole life of being a synchronized swimmer but when he finds this team his passion is renewed in other areas of his life and he’s more at ease in his own body. It’s easy to feel like I already know all there is to know about myself and about my husband of twenty-four years. We are the people who only know it’s Superbowl Sunday when we go to the grocery store the day of and see the football cakes in the deli. I like the idea that there are more parts to discover. For example, a few years ago we realized we both like kayaking. The idea that we could be those people with kayaks on top our car, on the way to an adventure, keeps me curious about what’s around the corner (so far, we are the people with the rack on the car that can potentially carry kayaks, but it’s a start.)
They make mistakes in their friendships but they are also intentional about making things right and encouraging one another. Tensions rise, fights happen, but the men are also generous with their words. When the team gets invited to perform at a birthday party, Eric asks if that includes him since he’s just joined. “Of course, mate, your integral.” Being surrounded by kind voices is something I’ve recognized the importance of lately.
Life inevitably keeps moving and changing and we change with it. Some of our people won’t be our people from beginning to end. But there is hope. You never know when someone is going to reach out a hand, or maybe it will be your turn to say, “Hey there, I couldn’t help noticing a certain kinship.”
Luke: Tell me something. You said we should just be who we are, so, um, who do you think we are?”
Coach: The most broken, flawed, beautiful bunch… that I’ve ever met.”
-from Swimming with Men.
Words to Remember
“I’ve lately realized some fear about leaving familiar pastures for parts unknown. I could learn from nature about this. I feel sure a tree doesn’t fear the spring buds anymore than it fears the autumn leaves.”
-Shannon from Shannon’s Newsletter (Check out the full post here, where she explores the invitation of winter, and the darkness that accompanies it.)
From the Sketchbook
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee