Float like a cloud
I floated on my back in the hotel’s indoor poor and stared up at the dull, off-white ceiling. The stench of chlorine and the slightly-too-warm water were off-putting, but I was relaxed. A radio station playing top hits buzzed somewhere in the distance; apart from that, the room was very still. I had the entire pool to myself.
I had escaped to the mountains of east Tennessee for a last-minute weekend trip in the wake of an unexpected, painful break-up. Over the last two days, I had explored art museums, rooftop bars, Christmas tree farms, state parks, and — now — an indoor pool in a nearly-empty hotel in Kingsport, Tennessee. I had only booked the hotel room a few hours before, so — upon learning of the pool — I made a stop at the Walmart up the street and bought an ill-fitting swimsuit. As I attempted to lie on the water’s surface, I relaxed my shoulders and spread my arms wide.
“Float like a cloud,” I could hear my grandma saying in my head.
I have vivid memories of trying to float on my back in her swimming pool as a kid. The water felt cool in the Florida heat, and the humid air smelled like the greenery in her backyard. She stood in the pool next to me, hands suspended below my body just in case I would need the support. The sky was bright blue, and I was happy.
Now decades later, I focused on this memory as I tried to relax my tight muscles and relinquish control of the world around me. Letting things exist as they are is a struggle sometimes. Remembering to float like a cloud helps.
My weekend trip to east Tennessee was in mid-February. The world felt chaotic to me then; I had no idea what was in store.
In the coming weeks, concerns over the new coronavirus would reach my part of northern Alabama. Working from home at a tech company is, compared to other professions, an easy adjustment. I’ve been able to spend more time gardening, reading, and being creative. Everything feels slower and less urgent, which — in a world where everything feels important all of the time — is a welcome change. The juxtaposition of the calm and quiet I experience day-to-day alongside the immense loss happening in the world right now is still hard to process. I wear a floral face mask my Nana and Papa made me when I go to the grocery store, and I have a back-up mask that my parents sent me just in case I need it. We’re all in this together.
I have experienced significant change so far this year, and, in the weeks ahead, it will continue.
After over five and a half years of working alongside the same people, I’ll be leaving my company at the end of May. My job has always meant so much to me; moving to Huntsville, Alabama to grow my career was a turning point in my life. My relationships changed, my aspirations changed, and I changed. Choosing to come to Huntsville was one of the first examples I can think of where I did something purely for myself — not because I knew it would make someone else happy or that it was expected of me. I have learned so much over these last several years, and the opportunities I’ve been given because of my company were once-in-a-lifetime. I am so grateful.
If this year has taught me anything, it’s to be more open to change. Love deeply, commit yourself wholly, but do so with an understanding of life’s impermanence. When you’re receiving signals that it’s time for something new, don’t cling to the familiar for the sake of stability. Approach change with curiosity and excitement. Facing the unknown is less paralyzing when you’re open to being surprised.
Though this year has been full of rapid, continuous change, there’s a good chance it will be more fulfilling than I could have ever imagined. I’m humbled, thankful, and excited for what’s in store; I am but a lighthearted altocumulus cloud drifting towards the sun.
