There’s one memory I always go back to. One moment that I think I truly felt peaceful. It’s not a significant moment or anything that would sound as impactful as it was. It’s a short quiet moment. One that feels personal but is most likely universal in the actions though not in the feelings I experienced.

That moment I think of was one summer day when I was alone and submerged in the pool.

I was underwater looking up while letting myself sink in time with the slow release of air from my lungs. As I sunk lower and the bubbles rose to break the surface I was struck with the beauty of the moment.

The thing about water is that when you’re surrounded by it everything feels calmer. Noises are muted, movements are slower, light twinkles and seeps through the barrier but doesn’t feel blinding.

The world often feels like too much to me. Too much noise, too much light, too many people that frighten me or burn me out. It often leaves me feeling hollow and so tired. But in that moment nothing was too much and for once my mind was quiet.

I could stare up at the world above, distorted by the gentle turbulence of the water’s surface, and take it in without feeling overwhelmed.

The gentle sway of the water lightly rocked me back and forth and lulled me, soothing the anxiety right beneath my skin and making my issues fall to the back of my mind.

I wished I could stay there forever. My mind is never quiet and my fears never quelled. But something so calming can never last forever. Reality always has a way of crashing back into me.

I tried so hard to stay there as long as I could, taking a snapshot of time to hold onto, but soon enough the burning in my lungs became so urgent that my body tried to drag air into my lungs against my will and I was forced to kick off the bottom to break the surface.

It was immediate. Everything came rushing back.

The barrier between me and the world was gone and so was the peace.