Lifeguard Saves Life While on Duty!! Extra! Extra!

Lifeguard Actually Saves Life While on Duty!!  EXTRA! EXTRA!

I am approaching this piece with some uncertainty. I fear that my title is over-sensational and sensationalism is something that I do not strive to attain when it comes to these articles. Also, the content of this article (though it was an adventure!) is quite varied from my usual discover-Maine style.

But read on, dear reader, and perhaps you will find it worth your time. I think it might be.

Lifeguarding is a sort of bread-and-butter job for me. Until, of course, the day comes when I break through as a writer, buy the house next to Stephen King's, and write full-time.  Our story opens upon  an evening that felt like any other, just a normal day of lifeguarding at the indoor pool here in Maine where I work.  But then I spotted a young man struggling to swim in the 6ft section.

I kicked off my flip flops in anticipation of being needed, and watched as he struggled doggedly towards deeper water.  I readjusted the strap of the lifeguard tube that hung across my chest, making sure that the line would not be in the way, should I have to use it as flotation if things went badly.

When you lifeguard for any amount of time, you learn to look for patterns that could mean that a swimmer is not strong, and this young man was displaying some of these patterns. But I have been wrong before, and after lifeguarding for almost four years, I have only ever pulled one kid out of the water before and it was long ago, and at a pond. I am rarely called upon to use my lifeguard certification for actual lifesaving.

Sure, we retrain often and we know that we might have to go in at any second, but a good lifeguard's job lies mostly in prevention, and the people that frequent indoor pools often know how to swim.

There's less glory than they tell you in the movies.

I continued to watch as he pulled his friend underwater in an effort to stay afloat (I hesitated for a moment then - was he messing around, I wondered?). Then his friend swam away, oblivious. And then, this young man slipped underwater.

I jumped in then, and surprised myself by how quickly I was right above him, (this is why we retrain, I thought to myself) then, using my weight to counterbalance his, I pulled him up and onto my rescue tube.

He had only been under for a few moments, so he didn't cough much.  Then looked at me with surprise in his wide eyes and exclaimed,

"I can't swim!"

I almost laughed right then and there. But instead, realizing that such behavior might be inappropriate under the circumstances, I simply asked him if he was alright, and whether he needed help getting to the shallow end or if he could get out at the wall where I had brought him to.

He said he could get out and so he did.  Then I did the half hour of paperwork due every time a lifeguard has to jump in (another thing they don't tell you in the movies), then I changed out of my sopping wet clothes, and went home.

No thanks. No glory.  That was all. But I don't do it for the thanks, so it doesn't really matter, right?

Right. And besides, he was only acting the way I knew he would - his box demanded it, after all.

You see, we humans enjoy putting people into boxes. Tie the bow nice and tidy, and we won't have to have our world-view questioned. We'll never feel uncomfortable! Pride is so familiar and warm, like a wood fire in a Maine winter.

And this young man was part of a group that comes to my pool every week. I have them all in a comfortable box. They are from a college nearby and they tend to be oblivious to the fact that I just mopped that floor, or that I don't really want to watch them make out during the half hour weekly that I must guard them.  Put quite simply, their conduct can be (at times) disorderly at best.  That was all there was to them.

Or so I thought.


Until he came back with his group tonight. He had been banished to the shallow end, perhaps been taken down a peg or two, poor guy, but he did come back and that I can certainly respect.

I saw him and made eye contact as I was about to go on deck and relieve the guard that was stationed out there. I saw him just in time to hold the door so that he could go through before me.

I gave him a small smile, wondering if he remembered me. And he looked straight back into my eyes and said, "Thank you." He held my gaze just long enough for me to wonder whether he was thanking me for the fact that I was holding the door for him, or for what I did for him the week before.

I suppose I'll never really know for sure, but I choose to believe the latter. My silly box isn't that important, after all.

Thoughts on a Life

We humans enjoy putting people into boxes. Tie the bow nice and tidy, and we won't have to have our world-view questioned. We'll never feel uncomfortable! Pride is so familiar and warm, like a wood fire in a Maine winter.

I rarely actually have to use my lifeguard certification.  Sure, we retrain often and we always know that we might have to go in at any second, but a good lifeguard's job lies mostly in prevention, and the people that frequent indoor pools often know how to swim.  There's less glory than they tell you in the movies.

So when I kicked off my shoes and jumped in last week, I can assure you it surprised me as much as it did him.

You see, there's a group that comes to my pool every week. I have them all in a comfortable box. They are from a college nearby and they tend to be oblivious to the fact that I just mopped that floor, or that I don't really want to watch them make out for the half hour that I must guard them, and their conduct can be (at times) disorderly at best.  That was all there was to them.

Until one of them started struggling and then slipped under the water.  And suddenly I was right above him, using my weight as a counterbalance to pull him up and onto my rescue tube (this is why we retrain, I thought to myself). He had only been under for a moment, so he only coughed a little, then looked at me with surprise in his wide eyes and exclaimed,

"I can't swim!"

I almost laughed right then and there. But instead, realizing that such behavior might be inappropriate under the circumstances, I simply asked him if he was alright, and whether he needed help getting to the shallow end or if he could get out at the wall where I had brought him to.

He said he could get out and so he did.  Then I did the half hour of paperwork due every time a lifeguard has to jump in (another thing they don't tell you in the movies), then I changed out of my sopping wet clothes, and went home.

No thanks. No glory.  That was all. But I don't do it for the thanks, so it doesn't really matter, right?

Right. And besides, he was only acting the way I knew he would - his box demanded it, after all.

Until he came back with his group tonight. He had been banished to the shallow end, perhaps been taken down a peg or two, poor guy, but he did come back and that I could certainly respect.

I saw him and made eye contact as I was about to go on deck and relieve the guard that was stationed out there. I saw him just in time to hold the door so that he could go through before me.

I gave him a small smile, wondering if he remembered me. And he looked straight back into my eyes and said, "Thank you." He held my gaze just long enough for me to wonder whether he was thanking me for the fact that I was holding the door for him, or for what I did for him the week before.

I suppose I'll never really know for sure, but I choose to believe the latter. My silly box isn't that important, after all.

I am not regurgitating useless words, I am regurgitating words

Why am I my own worst enemy?  Why does my pride and vain ambition, my desire to be liked, my desire to be right, plague me so? And oh, the bitter knowledge that these are just a few of the pennies in my jar that’s filled with all the things that I hate when I remember the words I've spoken, when I remember what and who I truly am inside.

          And then there is the trait in me that seeks to escape oblivion.  The trait that tells me that I can, I should, I must.  Yet, when I square my jaw and clench my fists and shout to the world,

“Do your worst, I can take it!”

…somehow I am surprised when the world answers by doing just that.  When they pick up their gloves and swing, burying their fists in my stomach, my eyes fill with tears and I lose my breath as if I hadn’t asked for it in the first place.  As if it wasn’t me who sent out those query letters. As if someone forced me to go to two auditions in three weeks only to be answered by that deafening sound of silence. 

Rejection has become my only friend.

Because those who I gave my heart to (freely, freely) have given it back.  It is not wanted they say, there is no room for me in their heart.  Not any more.  
        I thought we would raise children and experience all of life together. We promised that we would.  Now whenever I see her, she speaks Words when she used to speak Meaning.  When she used to speak tenderness.

But that doesn’t matter.  Or maybe it does, but all I know is that I want to be ferocious and a force to be reckoned with.  Instead, all I seem to be good at is honing my pride and driving away the people I love.

       Such a vast number of the words written on the internet prove to be nothing more than a regurgitation. Just noise, noise, noise and words that are meant to draw you in and then empty you, never filling you. And maybe I'm regurgitating too, but I hope that you'll see that I'm meaning to be more. I'm trying and failing and trying to make something more.

And still, there are those who have stayed.  I am always afraid of taking them for granted.  But I know (I know) that I do that, too.  The people who  have stayed are the people who gave me the world – Parents who give their love and pride and understanding, never wavering.  Siblings who listen to me and forgive me.  A husband who thinks I'm a beautiful soul who can do anything that I put my mind to.

So I circle back to what I cried out in the first place.  I am the enemy inside of me.  And though I suspect that what I really need in the end is sleep, my words will not let me rest until they are written.  Until they are placed on the page – a promise that I will pick myself back up, dust off the pain, and try again.