We're all swimming in the same pool

And everybody's doin' a brand new dance.

The best days for swimming are snow days. That’s when most people hunker down at home. And leave the hotel swimming pool mostly for me.

You wouldn’t believe the thoughts I get while doing my lazy breast breast stroke on a Sunday afternoon. And how good the water feels when it lunges up over my ears, like hands cupped over them.

Sometimes, an older man shows up. I call him Cowboy Dan. He places a speaker at the edge of the pool and turns to look at me.

“Would you mind if I played some music?” he asks.

“Of course, not!” I chime in.

“George Strait? Willy Nelson? Or Toby Keith?”

“Surprise me,” I grin.

The other day, an older couple showed up. They scattered a formidable array of weights and water wings and resistance bands at the edge of the pool. And right in the middle, they placed a large speaker.

Then, without looking at me, she hit play.

Everybody’s doing the locomotion. Come on, baby. Do the locomotion.

I knew that song was lethal. It creeps into your ear and changes your brain chemistry. Then you’re humming it all day long with tears in your eyes.

I didn’t last another five minutes in that pool.

My little baby sister can do it with ease… It’s easier than learning your A-B-C’s…

When I got home, I relayed the story to my mom — careful not to sing the song to her, lest the rot spread.

“Now, why would anyone voluntarily listen to the same music they use to torture prisoners at Guantanamo?” I asked.

Mom understands the power of music to heal or to harm. Sometimes, she’ll walk into a restaurant and turn right around. Because she can’t bear what they’re playing.

“It does something to you,” she says. “It can hurt your soul.”

But that day, she was particularly angry on my behalf. It wasn’t about playing the wrong music. It was about someone forcing their energy on someone else — someone who had been there before them. What kind of future can we expect when everyone thinks they own the world? It’s that extraction mindset. Take what you can.

“And they didn’t even ask!” my mom seethed. It seems so trifling, doesn’t it? Someone played a song I didn’t like in the swimming pool. But little things, especially when it comes to human behavior, have a tendency to point to broader patterns. We both despaired of a world that doesn’t allow our spaces to layer into each and co-exist peacefully. Someone’s space always has to win.

This couple came. They played ‘The Locomotion’. They conquered.

You gotta swing your hips now… Come on, baby…

“You gotta file a complaint!” my mom angrily declared.

Too late for all that. The damage had — jump up, jump back — already been done.

It reminded me of a story I read in school. Long ago, the Anishinaabe could speak to animals and plants. Deer, especially, were their friends. But the people started developing bad habits. They grew selfish and destructive. So one day, the deer decided, for their own safety, to leave the humans.

During their separation, the deer had a chance to heal. And the Anishinaabe had time to reflect and figure out what they had done to lose a cherished friendship. Eventually, the people mended their ways. And the deer came back to them.

There’s a lot to learn from this tale. Even for an ex-addict. I always used to let the wrong one in. I didn’t separate myself from them until it was very late and much damage had been done.

At least, when I was younger, I could recognize that my father wasn’t good for me. So whenever I had the chance, I ran away.

“But he’s your father,” a well-meaning family member would plead.

True. But, like the deer in that Anishinaabe tale, I had to protect myself. And maybe someday, we’d be reconciled and our relationship made whole.

The thing is my father never took that time apart to reflect. Only to make excuses and justifications in the service of his own conscience. I eventually said, “Fuck it. He’s old and sick anyway.” And I returned to him.

But in recovery, I got better at cutting people out early. Like fast friends from the program. Or other slippery people.

Do it nice and easy now, don’t lose control… A little bit of rhythm and a lot of so—— FUCK OFF, SONG!

My mom didn’t need a crack habit to understand that people can be terminal for you. And sometimes, for the sake of your own garden, you need to yank them at the roots. Let them sort their shit out somewhere else — where they’re not harming you.

The trouble is, we’re all living in the same garden. Swimming in the same pool. And everyone wants to be the DJ.

Come on, do the Loc—— NO.

If we keep separating ourselves from each other, we’ll run out of space.

“All these things are put in your way for a reason,” she says. “It's not for you to push away. It's for you to learn from. Everything has a purpose. Especially the things that annoy the crap or it you.”

I’m not entirely sure what that means. But it sounds hard. Like, I’m going to be listening to a lot of bad music as a I learn to swim nicely with others.

“Those people need love and support more than anybody,” she adds.

Okay, okay… take it easy, mom. I’ll be back in the pool tomorrow.

Now, I understand that I may have done you wrong too, dear reader. And passed The Locomotion plague on to you.

Here’s the spiritual enema we both need. No one EVER gets tortured to this song.