Floating Back to Myself

This morning, I went for a swim in the river. I’m moored in a beautiful, isolated spot south of Oxford. It’s just me, Woody, and my friend’s dog Lupo. The conditions couldn’t have been better—crystal clear sky, a breath of a breeze, and a mill-pond stillness to the water. Birds everywhere: swifts, swallows, reed warblers, skylarks. And the jewel of the river—the kingfisher.

I stripped off and dove in. Woody followed, of course, but climbed out once he saw I was okay. I floated alone in the cool, clear water. I don’t think I’ve ever had a wild swim quite so perfect. Maybe it was the solitude. Or maybe it was something inside me that finally let go. A tension lifted. I stopped thinking about what to do next. Just floated. For a moment, I felt completely free—like I’d returned to myself.

And now, here I am, writing again.

It’s taken nearly two weeks to get here. I’d let myself off the leash—summer events, a ‘festival’ wedding, a George Michael tribute in a riverside village. Lunchtime beers turned into lazy afternoons. A line here and there to keep things going. It was fun. It didn’t spiral, which I’m proud of—but it still took its toll. Work drifted. Naps deepened. I had to sit with a flatter version of myself.

This needs managing, but I’ve learned that guilt and shame don’t help. What helps is knowing this isn’t my norm. That I can get back to who I naturally am. Home, if you like.

I didn’t stop journaling. But I avoided writing for Mission 52. I think I needed to write just for myself for a while—without pressure or purpose. There’s still a line between the two for me. Maybe one day it will blur. But for now, I know when I need to write with no expectation.

The truth is, the excessive life strips me of my energy to be the man I want to be. But this morning, that brief glimpse of freedom in the water—that moment of floating, of arriving—was enough to recharge something. It brought me back to the page.

This is the core tension I live with: wanting to enjoy life fully, but not at the expense of the version of me that feels most aligned. The one that creates, reflects, loves. I’m learning to recognise when I drift, and I recalibrate faster now. But it’s still a dance. Still a question: was it worth it?

Mission 52—and the pillars I’ve defined—are my compass. Peace. Growth. Love for myself. They’re what help me come home.