When I was little, the only way to swim was if my mom took me somewhere. In California, she took me to her childhood stomping grounds in Simi Valley for play swimming—the Tapo Country Club pool, which isn’t nearly as chi-chi as it sounds and doesn’t exist anymore. It was a nice place; a big outdoor pool with a small wading pool, but it wasn’t like there were cabana boys or a catered lunches; it was pretty remote, surrounded by eucalyptus trees and brush, and it had a small oil well out in the sand parking lot. For lessons, I was taken to another defunct venue and another of my mom’s old haunts: Rita Curtis Swim School in Reseda (according to my mom—I was 3 and just know it was not at my house). It didn’t really take. My mom swam competitively for years; I swam just well enough to convince her I wouldn’t drown if I somehow fell out of a boat wearing a life vest in a very still and small pond.

When we moved to Illinois, I fell into the good luck of being friends with a gal who lived in an apartment complex with a pool (the apartments are still there, but I’m pretty sure that pool is gone now, too), and it was always a joyous day when she would call and tell me, “They’re filling it up!” In hindsight, I don’t think we took nearly enough advantage of that pool, but my mom didn’t want me wearing out my welcome and since it was a small town, there were plenty of parks and other places I could go to be feral.

From sixth to tenth grade, I did most of my swimming in Tampa Bay on the weekends. And then, my parents bought a house with a pool.

It was not the life-changer I thought it would be. It was great, don’t get me wrong—but I was hitting the age where the last place I wanted to be was home, our house was never one of those places where kids congregated, and I was never one of those girls who traveled in a pack anyway. I’m honestly not sure if more than two of my friends even knew there was a pool at my house. (In further hindsight, maybe I played that card wrong and should have capitalized on it more.)

Fast forward several years—college; assorted houses in assorted areas of California; one rental unit in Sarasota with a pool that I didn’t know know to maintain, plus the screening around it was ripped so the bugs were unbearable; and two places in Virginia—and I once again live in a house with a pool. It’s indoor, which makes it pretty humid year-round, but also means no bugs and nice weather in winter. We probably don’t take enough advantage of it, either, but I’ve made more of an effort.

Help me out with that! Come visit! I’ve got extra towels.