The Water is Cold, the Page is Blank—But the Magic Awaits

Early in life, I discovered two activities that became cornerstones. Each, at various times, serves as a refuge, offers inner peace, provides strength, and ensures a connection to something greater.

When I was ten, my fourth-grade teacher suggested creative writing assignments. I remember the joy of sitting at my school desk with a blank sheet, free to create stories from my imagination. 

Since then, writing has been a central part of my identity, whether I write fiction, nonfiction, memoir, poetry, or journal. Writing always brings me back to a place of calm and clarity. Although I occasionally stopped writing due to career demands, family life, or other personal interests, I tapped into a sense of well-being and flow each time I started again.

I started swimming laps at the University of Illinois in the 1970s. I was delighted to discover that the Huff Street building pools were open 24/7. I often was alone. I found solace in the stillness of the water and could swim for hours free from the noise, bustle, and pressure of campus life. 

Swimming also became a grounding force, an activity that brought me peace and focus no matter the challenge. Each swim, whether 20, 50, or 100 laps, centered me physically and mentally, allowing me to reconnect with myself and my purpose. 

I could step away from either or both activities. When I returned, it felt like I had never left—the stillness of the water or the flow of words offered strength when I needed it most. Swimming and writing provide me with a connection to a higher power. They allow me to tap into inner strength, reminding me that something significant supports me in my life. Both have taught me the power of returning to myself. 

Yet there is always that moment of hesitation—that resistance.

For swimming, it's the reluctance to step into the cold water. I know I'll feel better once I start, but the idea of getting wet and feeling that initial chill makes me pause. The hardest part is diving in. Once I do, my body adapts, my muscles loosen, and I find my rhythm. Before I know it, I'm in the zone, lost in the flow.

Writing is the same way. The blank page can feel daunting. I know the relief, the joy, the deep satisfaction that awaits me once I start, yet distractions creep in—emails, chores, the lure of doing anything but sitting down to write. Getting started requires pushing past that initial discomfort, like stepping into the water. But once I clear away distractions and let the words begin to take shape, I find myself in that same beautiful zone. The ideas come, the sentences flow, and I remember why I love this process.

For those who dream of writing a book, there will always be reasons to hesitate. There is the fear of not knowing where to start, the self-doubt whispering, "Will my words be good enough?" It's like standing on the pool's edge, unsure if you want to take the plunge.

Once you start and push past that resistance, you enter a space where everything clicks. You find your rhythm, your voice, your flow. 

Your words are waiting for you to connect.