“THERE is no drug — recreational or prescription — capable of inducing the tranquil euphoria brought on by swimming.” so says Richard Friedman, professor of psychiatry. I knew this, but appreciated an affirmation.

Kicking as hard as I can and moving through the water until I’m out of breath, this is what I need to do. Is it the rhythm of my breathing or the feeling of lightness that makes the swimming experience so curative?

The snail shell bobbing past my nose as I swim in the lake does not alarm me. I look down and can see the bottom almost 10 feet away. The wispy weed that has wrapped around my wrist is a charm bracelet that will come with me on my swim across the bay. Hello loon, heron and other members of my swim club, join me as I go.

In contrast to my lake swim is my city swim, cool blue pool up high in the sky, city view and lane markers. I swim my lap and turn and head back where I came, my path is straight. I’m alone in clear water.

The need to swim has always been strong, but never more so than this week, when my darling daughter Emma is having surgery. I am waiting.  From the top of a tall building in Hyde Park I look out over the immense span of Lake Michigan, the water is a reminder of that calming effect of swimming.

The first thing I ever taught was swimming. The results were satisfying and immediate. Clinging, blue-lipped children all learned to swim. They overcame fear and took off on their own across the pool. I think of all those kids and summon their bravery. Emma and I will swim across the lake when this day is behind us, and we will enjoy the water together.