Still in the Running
Swim gear ready to go, a reminder that staying in the running doesn’t always look like running. Sometimes, it’s simply continuing to show up.
Editor’s note: This is written from my current vantage point
Welcome back, curious minds and kind hearts, to The Things That Stay, my September series about reflection, integration, and what we carry forward as life continues to change us.
After exploring unexpected change in Somewhere in the Mix and the parts of ourselves worth carrying forward in Keep the Change, this week I’m turning toward something familiar. The dreams and passions we return to with a little more life behind us.
Because sometimes an old dream doesn’t disappear. It just changes shape.
About a year and a half ago, I got back into the pool. And while I wish I could tell you that after spending so much of my younger life swimming, my body immediately remembered exactly what it was doing. But it did not.
Swimming was much harder than I remembered it to be. My body felt heavier. I was sore. I tired more quickly. Even after becoming consistent again over the past several months, there are still days when I’m surprised by how exhausted my body feels.
My technique has started coming back. So much so, I can practically hear my old coaches in the back of my head reminding me what to do. My breathing, however, apparently missed the meeting.
I’ll swim eight or ten strokes without taking a breath and feel perfectly fine. Then, my body suddenly remembers oxygen is important, and the next few strokes become an attempt to renegotiate the arrangement.
But I’m getting there.
Underneath the physical adjustment, something else came back almost immediately.
I remembered why I loved swimming. I loved challenging myself to improve. I loved the camaraderie of being part of a team, the cross-training, the competition and, if I’m being completely transparent, I loved being good at the sport.
Swimming was a big part of my life.
A season that ended earlier than expected.
Eventually, there came a point in my life when swimming became too expensive. I understood the situation, and I didn't want something I loved to become another source of stress.
But understanding why something happened doesn’t mean it didn't hurt.
There was heartbreak there. Some mixed feelings too.
And because I never really got to find out how far I could’ve taken swimming, there’s always been a little room left for what if? What if I’d continued competing? What if I’d swam in college? What would my life look like now? There are questions I’ll never know the answer to.
What I do know is that the Olympic dream I once had eventually faded as I got older and understood just how extraordinary that path actually is.
My love for swimming didn’t.
Now, I choose the workout. I decide what I want to focus on. If my body has had enough, I can stop. If I’m feeling good, I can keep going.
There’s freedom in that.
I’ve spent a lot of my life being critical of myself, and swimming has become another place where I’m learning that adjusting the plan isn’t the same as failing at it.
It doesn’t mean I’ve lost my competitive side. I’d still conciser competing again someday, although I’m more cautious now because I understand just much injuries can disrupt future plans. I’ve also found myself thinking about another longtime dream, such as competing in a triathlon.
It’s not something I want to do for applause or to prove anything. I’d simply like to know there was something I wanted to experience in this life, and I gave myself the chance to experience it.
Maybe I will. Maybe competition will take another form. Maybe I’ll simply keep swimming because I love being in the water.
I’m okay with all three.
And the more I’ve thought about old dreams, the more I’ve realized that sometimes what stays isn’t the exact dream. It’s what was underneath it.
When I was younger, for example, I imagined becoming a motivational speaker.
Now that makes me laugh because I’ve since learned something fairly important about myself. I don’t particularly enjoy being the center of attention. Actually if you were to put me unexpectedly in front of a camera, there’s a good change you’ll meet my deer-in-the-headlights alter ego.
But looking back, I’m not sure the stage was ever really the point. I wanted to encourage people. I wanted to share what I’d learned so maybe someone going through something similar could have more understanding, awareness, or options. And I still want that. I just understand now that writing can be my way of doing it.
For a while, I imagined becoming a teacher too. I may never have that title, but the desire underneath it feels familiar by sharing what I know, explaining what I’ve learned, and hopefully making something a little easier for someone else to navigate.
Maybe some dreams tell us what we’re looking for before we have the experience to understand why we’re looking for it.
And it was experience that changed the way I approached those passions too.
During college, I put pressure on myself to post frequently on my blog. I thought about followers, experience, and how I could eventually use my work professionally. For most of that time, I enjoyed it. That was until the ideas stopped flowing.
It was only afterward that I recognized the burnout.
There days, I’m more careful about how much unnecessary pressure I attach to creativity.
I still want to write a book. I’m slowly developing ideas for a game. I make art. And some of those things may eventually come with goals, income, opportunities, or something I haven’t imagined yet.
I hope some of them do. But I’ve learned that I get to decide.
I can swim because I love it and still want to compete. I can make art Because it relaxes me and still wonder whether it could become a side income. I can write because I love creating and still hoe the words reach people.
A passion doesn’t have to remain “just a hobby” to stay pure, and it doesn’t have to become something bigger to justify the time I give it.
There’s room for both.
Maybe that’s part of why possibility actually feels bigger to me now.
As a kid, possibility felt enormous because I didn’t know enough to rule much out. Nearly every career sounded interesting at some point.
But it’s adulthood that naturally changed that.
I’ve learned more about what different paths require. I’ve learned what i’m good at, what I don’t enjoy, and what kind of life I actually want. While there may be fewer doors I want to walk through now, I’m more willing to choose the ones that actually fit instead of simply accepting whichever ones happens to open.
Of course, I still wonder about the others sometimes. What if I’d continued swimming? What if I’d made a different decision about running? What if I’d gone somewhere else for college?
And while there’s some nostalgia in those questions, even curiosity, I don’t need to wish away the life I’ve lived to wonder about the ones I didn’t.
In all honesty, I think it’s kind of fascinating how one decision changes the people we meet, the opportunities we encounter, and potentially, every decision that follows. There are also countless versions of our lives we never got to meet.
Looking back at them now doesn’t necessarily mean we want them back. It’s just that some old dreams no longer fit. Some have completely changed. Some were pointing toward something we wanted before we knew how to name it. And some were simply waiting for us to meet them again from a different stage in life.
Of course, sometimes we take a second look and confirm that we were absolutely right the first time. Roller coasters, I’m looking at you.
But not everything needs a comeback. And I’ve stopped bringing an old dream has to come true exactly as I once imagined it to still have a place in my life.
I don’t need to become an Olympic swimmer for swimming to matter. I don’t need a stage to encourage people. I don’t need a particular title to share what I’ve learned. The dreams I had then came with endless possibility. And the dreams I have now come with something different. Perspective and the freedom to decided what I want to do with them.
Maybe that’s what returning to an old idea can give us. Not another change to follow the original plan. Rather a chance to ask a better question. What does this mean to me now?
Sometimes the answer is completely different. Sometimes it’s surprisingly familiar. And sometimes the dream didn’t disappear at all. It was simply waiting for permission to change shape.
As you reflect on your own life, think about something you once dreamed of doing, becoming, or experiencing. Does it still matter to you? And if it does, what would it look like if you stopped holding it to the version you imagined years ago?
Maybe you don’t need to chase the old dream. Maybe you don’t need to let it go either. Give yourself permission to decide what place, if any, it deserves in the life you’re building now.
Remember to tune in Monday for the next chapter of The Things That Stay. Until then, may you have a wonderful week filled with laughter, adventure, and fun.
As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!
***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***
