I'm going to get all emo on you for a moment.
I'm a very strong swimmer. I can swim for miles and miles and miles. When other people tire, I keep going. When my vertigo hits, I put my head down under that water, focus on my form and tell myself one of two things: just keep swimming-or-this is nothing personal, just business. When my heart freaks out, I breathe easy and keep kicking. I am not fast or slim, but I've finally made peace with the fact that I don't need to be a size 6 to be a great athlete or great motivator.
In triathlons, in training, in life - I've yet to find a wave that could submerge me.
Men have come and gone. Most of them have had mommy issues, addiction issues or indecisive personalities. Friends have come and gone (although most of them have stayed). My family moved away. Money came and went. Jobs crumbled and materialized. I was diagnosed with everything under the sun. But I made myself a promise that, every single day, I would try to inspire someone. That I would be unashamed to stand up and admit my mistakes, and declare my faults and imperfections, but that I would make it clear to everyone around me that I was still going to make it. That, if I can do it, anyone can do it.
And I feel like I've failed everyone I set out to inspire.
Everything I've known has crumbled around me and the strength or desire or focus or motivation to find my base, my center, my truth - they've all disappeared.
I'm stuck out here in the middle of a formerly-friendly ocean and I've lost the will to keep going. Flipturns are out of the question. I have no direction, although I know my direction. I know my dreams, I know my goals. I have plans. I have a one-year plan, a five-year plan, a ten-year plan, and a plan for tomorrow. I know how to plan. I know more about nutrition and exercise and school and business than one unpaid person should know. But planning and execution? Not the same thing. At all.
How long will I be able to float before I drown?