Like a Duck to the Air

The liminal moment between wet water and dry air is the absolute worst moment of my day.

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I love water. Adore it. Standing in the rain, swimming in a lake, splashing in puddles, wading into the surf. I can do all of these things and more, for hours and hours. A long, hot shower can be both relaxing and a wonderful place to assemble my thoughts into a semblance of sense.

There is just one problem. I also hate water.

That awful feeling of wet hair stuck to my neck and weighing down on my scalp. The feel of the towel, always rough on my hyper-sensitive skin regardless of the material or laundering method. Wet, clammy fabric sticking to me, water droplets on my skin that will neither absorb nor fully wipe away.

Water is only something I love when I am fully immersed in it. In the moment, where there is no thought of after. The thought of still being wet once I am out of the water, though, is enough to make me avoid it altogether.

As a child, I loved to swim. I quickly worked my way through all the levels of the swim classes that were offered at our neighborhood pool. I spent summers in my aunt’s pool or swimming in rivers and lakes. When there was no body of water, I danced in the sprinklers or splashed in small wading pools.