Lessons on Presence From a Riptide.
Anyone who knows me well knows that Lake Michigan, the world’s fifth largest lake, is my happy place here in Wisconsin bringing me calm, clarity, gratitude, and creativity. One visit can bring powerful shifts in perspective and unlocks big ideas. It’s the hugeness of the place, I suspect — cobalt water as far as the eye can see, the size of an ocean. I like feeling insignificant next to its vastness.
It was this feeling which pulled me and my husband Colby on a weekend retreat about three weeks ago to a beautiful, new lake access point. We visited Two Rivers, a town two hours north from my home, to punctuate our hectic football season, visitors, and work.
Two Rivers, home to around 12,000 Wisconsinites, is the birthplace of the ice cream sundae and beaches like the Bahamas. Clear water and golden sand stretch for miles. As we trekked through the woodland path towards the beach, just minutes from our AirBnB, we found cyan blue water, fluffy, white clouds, and the occasional sea bird floating by with the wind. “Catch our friendly waves,” is the city’s advertising slogan. And yet, as I soon discovered, friendly waves can become epic, even dangerous.
On day one of our two-day retreat, undeterred by the cooling temps, I swam as I always swim with the lake access back home: Gliding and body surfing with and across the waves. Head up. Five minutes out with breast stroke. Five minutes back with backstroke. My eyes on the horizon. My thoughts with my higher power, the birds, the sky. My senses: 100 % in tune with the water, the wind, my body, and the cold.
This initial swim, though crisp with the Autumnal month, invigorated — filled my soul — a perfect prelude to two days exploring Two Rivers with walks, meals out, and hearing wildlife all around. I painted. I drew. I quickly forgot the frantic schedule we’d left behind.
The next day, our last day, I wanted one final swim before heading back. I noticed, as we returned to the same beach, the tide looked more urgent, angry and frothy than the day before. I told Colby who wondered about undertow, I’d feel robbed without this final swim. I’d be fine, I said. This lake feeds my soul.
As I waded in, the voice of my Sage echoed Colby’s concerns. She too noticed the relentless and irregular waves. Not calm, she warned. I felt stubborn. My quest for independence and adventure — what had brought us here after all prevailed. “I’ll be fine,” I told myself and plunged right in.
As soon as I swam my first laps out, I knew this was not fine at all. Waves felt relentless, unpredictable, and confusing. I struggled keeping my head up and above. These waves — which I’d hoped would bring me peace and calm — now resembled the mayhem in my mind, the feeling of no control — the very feelings I wanted to dial down, not up.
I knew to come back to shore and to abandon the mission; but my normal backstroke efforts failed. Like swimming against the current in a wading pool, I stayed in the same spot, no matter how hard I stroked. I tried flipping and breast stroking back to shore instead and found no momentum. Looking back to shore at Colby, now a good football field away, I could see (and felt startled by) how far (and quickly) the lake had pulled me out. I’d heard stories. I knew. I was in a Rip Tide. The lake current gripped my body — and I wasn’t sure how to detangle from its hold.
As a coach with reasonable experience and training, I’d like to say I stayed calm in the moment. No calm. Full panic. “Help!” I yelled out to Colby. “Heeeelpppp!!!” I tread water. I tried pushing myself up higher. I waved furiously with one arm. To no avail. Colby couldn’t see nor hear me over the wind nor waves. My heart pounded. Catastrophic (probably irrational) thoughts of drowning and hypothermia entered my head. I felt my energy drain fast.
I could have stayed in panic; but my Sage showed up, intervening the Saboteur hijacking of my mind which included all my Saboteurs, with the Hyper Vigilant running the show.
The voice I heard over it all — the waves, the wind, the wild hostile water told me what to do: Swim across vs against the tide. Save yourself. Nobody else can do it. It’s on you. These very words, so clear and resolute, brought tears of relief and knowing I could apply to my own rescue, not just here in this turgid lake — in my life. I’d told myself I was coping just fine with health and sleep challenges with bigger than normal demands on my energy, focus, and time. At that moment, I knew: I wasn’t coping that great. And yet I also knew: only I could make any change.
In the middle of this cold lake, getting colder with this distance from the shore, and waves all around, this point became very clear indeed. So what might I do with this clarity?
I yes ma’am-ed my Sage and shifted from panic and resistance to acceptance and innovation with this new approach and plan. Stroke and kick. Repeat. Stroke and kick. Repeat.
After what might have been five minutes swimming across the tide, I breathed between each stroke, more deeply than before; I felt the cool water and the sun on my face. Initially I yielded no progress, still using Colby at shore as my landmark and perspective. Colby sat as he did, a speck about a football field from my spot.
That’s ok,” said my Sage. “Accept.” “Try some more.” I obeyed this wise voice — she sounded so very wise. I kicked and stroked more than before and anchored on the two things I could control: My breathing and my perspective. I breathed from a deeper place, more steady, less choppy, slower vs. rapid. I noticed my body move from rigid terror to calm. I shivered less and felt more ease and flow. Ease and flow. Ease and flow. Ease… and… flow.
In this ease and flow vs. fearful state, I could confirm I’d moved closer to shore because I trusted my intuition more and knew we were a little closer. I tried standing and missed. Still too deep. Still too far out. But I kept going, anchoring on breath, acceptance, and then hope, love, resilience, determination, a will to not give up. A will to see my boys that night.
A few more kicks and strokes, I tried once more. Feet down, reaching with my numbing toes for the sand. Like a plane landing on a runway amidst a storm, the relief flooded with more tears than before. I felt the land. I could stand. I was up and upright. I could (and did) walk to shore.
Colby had come closer, at this point, wondering my whereabouts having not seen me in a while. I reached him, got hugged, and toweled, and told him (with shivers) what I’d navigated.
Some big lessons come to me on mental fitness and coping amidst chaos from this turbulent riptide experience in Lake Michigan. Accept vs. resist. Innovate. Trust that while collaborating’ s great, the best strategy is usually our own. Trust my intuition. Stubbornness pushed the visual warning of those waves away.
I’m grateful for my adventure and high-sea adventure in the world’s fifth largest lake and reflect upon it often, especially when pressures mount.
I’m pausing more to celebrate, punctuate, take stock, and be creative. I’m trusting that the busier the season, the bigger the training opportunity to listen for our intuition and Sage. Working with vs against the roaring waves of Lake Michigan as I did at Two Rivers that day became a good metaphor and reminder of the gifts and opportunities within that changed approach: Self kindness. Love — and life.
[Note to my readers: You can hear me read my high-lake adventure as this week’s Competency №5 podcast episode, with beautiful edits from my sound producer, Dotun Ayeni.]
Debbi Gardiner McCullough coaches and trains immigrant leaders to become more confident, concise, and mentally fit communicators. From Wisconsin, she owns and runs Hanging Rock Coaching and coaches worldwide with BetterUp.