Dreams do come true.

After years of navigating the complex social calculus of shared pools l have ascended.

I now have my own swimming pool.

Always open. Always clean. Always set to just-right Goldilocks perfection because I said so.

No mysterious Band-Aids floating by. No obnoxious kids with a gigantic swan float screaming, “Mommy!” No awkward small talk about weather patterns while my eyebrows drip off the excessive chlorine.

Now it’s just me, my floaty and a blended fresh fruit margarita. And the only person I might run into is a cherished family member.

Midnight dip? Don’t mind if I do. Morning meditation in the shallow end? Uninterrupted synchronized swimming routine to Sabrina Carpenter’s summer hit, Manchild.

Absolutely nobody here to stop me.

This isn’t just a pool. It’s a metaphor. For freedom. For peace. For the deep end.

I am now able to permanently stay in and out of my lane.