I’m a rubbish swimmer. I mean, really rubbish. My version of breast stroke is probably closest in style to a semi-paralysed frog. And attempting front crawl generally results in well-meaning passers by offering assistance. Which, on occasion, I’ve been known to accept.

I’ve just had a little holiday – four days in France – and amongst other things (eating and failing to make myself understood, mainly) I did a bit of swimming. Well, I did a bit of getting into a swimming pool. 

What I discovered, during this brave venture, was that there’s a lane for everyone. Strong swimmers, average swimmers, messing-around-and-indulging-in-a-spot-of-heavy-petting swimmers (they obviously don’t have that ‘poolside etiquette’ sign in France), even non-swimmers. Or non-swimmer, to be precise. I don’t think anyone else in that pool could claim to have been quite as lacking in aquatic skills as I am.

What I also discovered, was that you’re not absolutely confined to one lane. It takes a bit of courage – in this case ducking under water and keeping everything crossed that you will a) pop-up on the right side of the barrier, and b) pop up at all, but it’s totally possible to move between the lines and try your hand at a different stroke or speed. In my case, I gave ‘semi-paralysed frog flipped onto its back’ a good go. It was marginally more successful than the breast stroke version. Even if I did have to sacrifice the ability to see where I was going for the pleasure of staying afloat.

I’ve been a bit obsessed with swim lanes recently because they frequently crop up (annoying project management terminology) at work. And there are some parallels with my attempts to manage life in general I guess. I really like keeping things in parallel lines – or neat little boxes. I know people are constantly going on about how unhelpful it is to box things up and compartmentalise them, but I love it. If you could see the tiny people inside my head, you’d definitely see them enjoying a Nordic loft apartment style of living, with lots of blonde wood and the odd strategically placed designer chair and muted soft furnishing. And all this neat ordering works out fine for the most part. 

But sometimes obviously I do need to be flexible. Sometimes something happens in one area of life which has a direct impact on another. Pesky medical treatment gets in the way of work and messes a bit with your mental equilibrium, for example. Sometimes there’s an opportunity to bring two parts of life together – a work colleague turns into a friend, or a pony proves the ideal mode of transport for the daily commute. Ok maybe not that last one. One day…

Anyway, the point is, I’m happy with my lanes and boxes, because most of the time they’re a really useful way of managing stuff and maintaining a bit of order, safety and control. But there are definitely times when it’s worth taking a bit of a risk and ducking under that barrier. Especially when there’s a bit of heavy petting going on in uncomfortably close proximity, and the only way out of the pool is via the lane on the opposite side.