Anna Rae Gwarjanski Portfolio |
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, I recently got a new tattoo, a quote from the above poem, taken from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. I first read Whitman in college, and right away, he lit me up. There’s something about those words, “That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse,” that is so striking. No matter how futile we feel our lives are, and whether or not we’re doing anything about it, the world keeps turning. Millions of years have gone by and will continue to go by, but in the grand tapestry of history, we have the chance to contribute a verse. We don’t have to, but the opportunity is open if we choose to take advantage of it.
Most of you know my struggle with existential depression. I’ve written about it here, but basically, since I can remember, I’ve obsessively searched for the meaning of my life, of why I’m here, of why I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through. From a very young age, I’ve felt like I needed to do something, to be something, in order to for my existence to have value. It’s why I’ve always had lofty goals -- I want to be president! I want to be an Olympian! Maybe even both! LOL. In any case, since clearly I am neither president nor an Olympic athlete, I had to find my worth elsewhere. I used to look for it in swimming, in relationships, in journalism -- basically, in anything I could put down on a resume and say, “Look! Look at all these things I’ve done! Look at all these people I’ve pleased! Am I good enough now? Should I do more? I need to do more.” It took me a very, very long time to find my worth in myself. For almost a decade, I’ve been working really hard at accepting that I have value just as I am, no accomplishments necessary. Some days that’s still hard to wrap my head around, but those days are getting fewer and farther between. I do still want to contribute something, to make my mark on the world -- I just want to do it with what sets my soul on fire rather than what I think would what look best on a resume. Figuring out what that is is still a work in progress, but I feel like I’m closer than I’ve ever been. I really and truly feel that my new career as a head swimming coach could be a big part of my verse. At the end of our summer season, we had a banquet that included a surprise retirement ceremony for Minot’s longtime head coach. Even though I’ve only known/worked for Nancy a little over a year, it’s easy to see what a special person she is and how much she cared for every single child. She’s been a North Dakota swimming fixture for decades, so seeing her say goodbye made for an emotional night. It’s difficult to describe how special it was to see people she coached 30 years ago come up and say how influential she was in their life, and how much she helped them grow not just as an athlete, but as a human being. By encouraging these kids and showing them that they were valued, she created a ripple that affected their whole lives. I’ve swam under coaches who cared about my times, and I’ve swam under coaches who cared about me. Both of those have been beneficial, because they've helped me figure out what kind of coach I want to be. While times may seem like the end-all-be-all and it’s easy to get caught up in them, the amount that they really don’t matter is staggering. Competing is such a small fraction of a life. Ribbons and trophies fade, but the lessons and growth that happens during those years is deep-rooted. As I get older, one lesson in particular keeps getting underscored: It’s the little moments that influence you the most. The races I swam really fast weren’t the defining moments in my swim career; it was when I had a coach look me in the eye and say, “I believe in you,” and mean it. When another coach could tell I was having a hard year and asked, “Are you ok? No, really, are you ok?” When I was discouraged and giving up on myself and a coach gave me a hard talk, saying “You’re better than this.” It’s not the accolades; it’s those moments, given to me by my teachers, my coaches, my family members and mentors -- the people who showed me kindness and rooted for me unconditionally -- that made the biggest mark on me. My hope is that I can be that person for someone else. Tangent (it will connect later, I promise): In May, I wrote a blog post about how much my dreams have changed, especially over the past six years, and how full-circle my life has come, particularly when it comes to swimming. A conversation my husband and I had a few months ago about my old swim career keeps running around my head. I don’t remember the specifics or even how it came up, but I do remember him asking me a simple question that has stuck with me: “Was it worth it?” It’s a heavy question for me. I don’t remember what I answered, but I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of, “I don’t know.” But, I can’t get away from it. So I think that tells me my answer. An eating disorder, a hip surgery, arthritis, lots of chronic pain, and, if I’m being honest, some psychological scars later… and I’m sure I’d do it all over again. Logically, that is absolutely insane. Hindsight is 20/20, so I know the consequences. I know how hard it was. I know where I’ll end up in the grand scheme of things -- certainly not even close to the best. Maybe if I was, I could rationalize this way of thinking. But, I think the highest I ever finished in college was 18th at SEC’s, in the 200 IM. Nobody’s going to remember my name. I watched a documentary on NHL enforcers, “Ice Guardians,” the other day, and in an emotional ending, one of the retired players was asked, “If you could, would you do it all over again?” He teared up and looked away from the camera, speechless for a minute. Finally, he looked back, nodding. “With a little more fire.” I’ve come to the conclusion that swimming was worth it for me because of the growth opportunities it gave me. And like that NHL player, I think, given the chance, I’d do it all again, but with a little more fire. In a few early drafts, I wanted to title this blog post “Volenti Non Fit Injuria” -- injury is not done to he who consents. I had many opportunities to walk away from this sport, and I said no to every single one -- and I thought I might regret it, but I don't. Swimming taught me so much. It made me tough and hard-working. It helped me find a steely inner strength that I didn’t know I had. It gave me some of my best friends and helped me graduate college without debt. The list goes on. I’m starting to go a little long-winded here, so I’ll try to cut to how that tangent connects to the meaning of my tattoo, the original purpose of this post. For a long time, I thought being an athlete was “my verse.” I thought by enduring so many setbacks, I could be the “comeback story” that inspired MILLIONS (what can I say, I might be a little bit of a drama queen). Long story short, I discovered that part of my life might contribute to my verse, but it certainly wasn’t the whole thing. However, when I began this blog in 2015 and started using social media to be more open about my struggles than showing off my successes, that’s when the beginning of my real verse was written. Through that and now coaching, I’m starting to see how and where my athletic career fits in. In a nutshell, I think my verse is showing people that life is mixed bag of happiness and sadness and triumph and defeat and learning throughout it all. My verse will show that you can work your ass off and give your dreams everything you’ve got, and sometimes they still won’t work out. When that happens and your heart is broken, my verse says that life doesn’t screech to a halt; instead, another door appears and, even though it’s terrifyingly different, you have the choice to open it. And if/when you do, it’s more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. I guess what I’m saying is, my verse shows that sometimes the breakdown leads to the breakthrough. And I really want that to give people hope. It’s so easy to feel like what we do doesn’t matter. That unless we’re living that power-hungry, white-picket-fence American dream, we’re not making a difference. But that’s a lie. And I’ve got “you may contribute a verse” tattooed on my bicep to help me remember my truth, what I stand for, and that it is indeed an important contribution.
28 Comments
|
About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
Categories |