A Lot Like Life.

It was one of the few summer days this year, that Daddy was home. He had taken us to the pool, and I was trying to perfect my dive. Well, to be honest, to dive. After a few tries, I was confident, I felt ready, I was going to dive off the diving board. I walked down the board, got into position, bounced once, twice, and jumped off. As soon as my toes were off the board I knew. There was something wrong. No not something, everything was wrong. I knew people were watching, it’s a public pool for Pete’s sake. I knew Dad was watching. I felt the water part, I heard the lifeguard’s “Yowch!” I heard the splash, and I came back up.

I had done the perfect belly flop. 

It was summer outside, the sun was blaring down through the ceiling windows. It reflected on the pool water below, all the way up to my face. It was blinding me one glare at a time as I stared down to my toes. The water! it seemed so far away! The smell of chlorine, ah that wonderful smell, engulfed me and I was somehow aware of it becoming part of me; I knew I would be able to smell it in my hair and on my skin that night, no matter how many times I shampooed or scrubbed. I was faintly aware of Shaun’s eyes on me, his as well as the rest of the class’s. I knew what he was holding in his hand, the clipboard and pen. Adele’s voice was coming over the radio for the second time that day. For a while it was just me and her distant voice. All I wanted to know was whether I’d be rolling in the deep or do the perfect clean dive. I inched towards the edge. It was time for my pencil/entry dive from off the high dive. Nicole had gone before me, it had looked so easy then. Becky was poised on the ladder awaiting her turn. I took a deep breath, crossed my arms, jumped once, jumped twice, and dove. And then everything was in slow motion and yet in seconds. I crossed my legs in time, held form, and hit the water at just the right angle. I felt the water break, and my feet touch the bottom of the pool. Unconsciously my arms began pulling upward in a breast stroke, and my legs kicked into surface support. I felt the water break again, and as soon as I had gotten the hair out of my eyes I looked towards Shaun, he was scribbling on the clipboard. I sidestroked to the edge and waited. He came over and showed me the board,

I passed with a “Excellent” written and circled in red.

To me that’s what blogging is like. Each post is a dive, a risk. It’s me sharing a little bit of me with the public, with you. Each day that I post, I look down towards my fingers on the keyboard and see so many letters, that could form so many words, such potential. For a while everything is silent, then the keys start clicking and Toby(my computer)’s purr becomes louder. It all ends when I jump off the diving board by clicking on the Publish button.
Sometimes I belly flop, sometimes I pass with a “Excellent” written and circled in red.

What’s blogging like for you?
Inspired by, Victoria’s Snow Forts and Blogging post.

4 thoughts on “A Lot Like Life.

  1. Social Lilac November 30, 2011 / 1:11 am

    And isn't that the truth! I've seen that happen over and over again with my posts. Thanks so much S.Stauss, by the way, I tried to follow your blog once, do you have BlogLovin'?


  2. S. Stauss November 30, 2011 / 12:21 am

    Sometimes people applaud what I think are my belly flops while some “swan dives” go unnoticed. I love your story.


  3. Social Lilac November 29, 2011 / 9:44 pm

    And the awesomeness makes the flops worth it! (:


  4. Anonymous November 29, 2011 / 9:36 pm

    It's true. Sometimes…belly flops hurt! Sometimes perfect dives are awesome! ~ Red Dirt kelly


Hey! What's on your mind?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.