The Swimmers

by Julie Otsuka

we are nothing more than a blurry peripheral shape glimpsed in passing through the foggy tinted goggles of the swimmer in the next lane.

cancer would be better, you may be thinking. Or heart disease. Or a bullet straight through to the brain. Or maybe you are simply filled with regret for all the things you did not do. You should have done more crossword puzzles, taken more risks, signed up for that Great Books class, used up all your vacation days, removed the plastic slipcovers from the “good” furniture (“I’m turning into my mother!” you once said, accurately), worn those expensive heels in the back of your closet you were saving for that special occasion (which would be what?). You should have lived (but what did you do instead? You played it safe and stayed in your lane). Or maybe you should have chosen the Mediterranean Diet over the Atkins. Or learned a new language—French, German, bahasa Indonesia, something, anything—before the age of fifty, when your brain began its inevitable downhill slide. “Next year,” you kept saying to yourself. And now—Surprise!—next year is here. Now you will never take that trip to Paris or become a well-read person (instead of just a mere browser) or speak fluent or even passable French. Nous sommes désolés. Because the party, sadly, is over.

Dr. Nancy reports directly to corporate, a nondescript glass-clad building in a faraway tax-friendly state. She carries a monogrammed handbag and makes over $400,000 a year. Her main responsibility is to keep the shareholders happy. Her favorite word is “metrics.” Her silent mantra is “A head in every bed.” Her sole—and most precious—commodity is you.

you will be tended to exclusively by exhausted middle-aged women of color from cash-starved countries who work two and three jobs to cover the rent. Their blood pressure is high, their backs are sore, they haven’t seen a dentist in years. Remember to thank them when they come to you in the middle of the night to fix your blanket.

Try to make their lives easier, if you can. They are being paid the lowest possible wage to love you.

And with each memory shed you will feel lighter and lighter. Soon you will be totally empty, a void, and, for the first time in your life, you will be free. You will have attained that state of being aspired to by mindful meditators across the planet—you will be existing utterly and completely “in the now.”