Latest Drowning Articles
I turned myself around in the chin-deep water. I saw what froze Sam. Swimming below the surface in the deep end, going from side-to-side was a dark figure. About the size of Sam and I, whatever it was swam swiftly and seemed to have no interest in coming up for air.
In her essay, “On Keeping A Notebook,” Joan Didion described writers as being “anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.” That’s me. I am that. And it’s not just because I’m a writer, although I’m sure that doesn’t help matters. It’s because I have been on the verge of losing my life more than once. And now I worry that almost dying a bunch of times has made me afraid to actually live.