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The Whole Mermaid Dream Thing
Jul. 14th, 2021 08:42 pmThis is not an entry I could've ever predicted writing, I don't think. Today I lived a dream of mine and became a mermaid. Bear with me...
I've loved the whole aesthetic idea of mermaids since I was very young- I used to draw them all the time and consume ridiculous amounts of mermaid content on Google and YouTube, wishing I could be one like many children do. That was the golden age of the internet when young minds were truly convinced that these dreams could be real, with junk like "mermaid spells" floating around on different platforms. I remember way back Animal Planet released a mockumentary about mermaids that threw me into a mermaid phase for awhile, and I guess it never really left me because I still really, really love mermaids. For awhile the most difficult thing to accept was the tangibility of "being" one in a sense, though. I knew cosplay items existed for this sort of thing on a professional level, that is, until I discovered that mermaiding is an actual hobby for (relatively) normal people. And thus, I re-entered my mermaid phase back in January.
There is a surprising amount of knowledge needed for mermaids, which I consumed rather quickly given the nature of my fixations. I now know a myriad of different consumer tail manufacturers, the difference between silicon tails and fabric tails, what monofins fit in what tail skins, the works. It's pretty intense. Even before I saw myself engaging in the hobby properly, I learned about breath holding and proper swimming techniques as well as safety measures. The people in the community make it extremely easy and welcoming for newcomers, and there seems to be a lot of people coming into this niche. And for those who really have a passion for it, it seems to go beyond just the aesthetics of all of it. These people love the joy that they bring other people (particularly kids) through their hobbies, not to mention the body-positive narrative that surrounds the whole thing. The diversity of the community is wonderful and unexpectedly supportive of trans people in particular. These people have made their dreams real and encourage others to do the same. Once I started to see that, I realized that maybe this would be a good fit for me. So I became determined.
My first step was cut out for me. I needed a monofin, which is basically a piece of equipment that allows one to swim faster in the water using dolphin kick. There are a variety of styled monofins which fit into their respective tail skins, so I ordered one that is intended for beginners. I had to carefully hide the package from my parents (they don't like the whole thing) and somehow got away with it. After that, I was itching to get in the water and test it out. There aren't many local places near me where I can do that for free, so I went to a fitness center near me to test it out in their Olympic pool. I found it to be suffocating to practice in such a shallow area, but I got the basics down. That was back in April, though. For the last few months I've just been impatiently awaiting a better opportunity and scrolling through different sites looking for the perfect tail skin for me.
By the looks of it, tail skins are the epitome of self-expression for mermaid hobbyists. They pick out tails that speak to them and they become staple pieces. Highly realistic tails are in the $400-$1000 range, but cheaper tails are anywhere from $20-$100. I have a few saved in a folder in my phone, aspirations for if I continue with the hobby. Getting a tail skin will truly make me bona fide, but right now I'm content with just swimming like a mermaid and not looking like one.
Well, I'm more than content, actually. Today was the second time I was able to break out the monofin, and not just in a shallow pool. I'm alone at my college apartment in Galloway at the moment, about 20 minutes from several notable areas around the Jersey Shore. I decided I wanted to utilize some of this time and find a place to truly get the mermaid experience. Fortunately for me, that place is just two miles from my new home and it is immaculate. Just a short hike off-campus from my university sits a small, isolated swimming hole that I call Dream Lake. I found out about it on some obscure website, and headed over this afternoon, monofin in hand. When I approached, cicadas hummed around me in the pine trees and it was all I could hear. Looking to the far end of the lake there are lilypads and assorted aquatic flora that I'm familiar with, as well as a small rocky beach near the edge of the western side. I dipped my feet into the water, which was suprisingly still and warm. The sunkissed surface made it all transparent, and I could see down to the lakebed which was alive with small schools of fish and algae. At that point the lake was begging me to come closer, and so I did.
The experience was remarkably acute. Even with the fin on, I hardly had to get used to it even though I was a bit skittish about being in the woods alone. With my first stroke, I swam some 20 feet out from the shore and emerged just above eye level, where I was met by hundreds of blue damselflies hovering timidly on the surface. I remained observant about that for awhile, and then I floated on my back and stared at the sky, where about a dozen laughing gulls were congregated above. When I closed my eyes, I could hear and feel everything in the ecosystem. I was alone, but at the same time I wasn't. Nature is always busy, it's hard to feel alone in it. The complexities of a space like Dream Lake become clear when I take the time to become part of them. For two hours kicked around like a true merperson, and simultaneously embraced the feeling of fulfillment that had waited 15 years to come to fruition. It was an astounding feeling.
I think we often treat our dreams, particularly those of our childhood, as far-off ideas that will never truly become realities. I guess when you actually seek them out, they are a lot closer than they seem. Today may have been one of the happiest days of my life. This contentedness is so powerful and important to me. It's not every day that a dream comes true, after all. But today, one did, so now I'm a mermaid I guess. Thanks, internet.
I've loved the whole aesthetic idea of mermaids since I was very young- I used to draw them all the time and consume ridiculous amounts of mermaid content on Google and YouTube, wishing I could be one like many children do. That was the golden age of the internet when young minds were truly convinced that these dreams could be real, with junk like "mermaid spells" floating around on different platforms. I remember way back Animal Planet released a mockumentary about mermaids that threw me into a mermaid phase for awhile, and I guess it never really left me because I still really, really love mermaids. For awhile the most difficult thing to accept was the tangibility of "being" one in a sense, though. I knew cosplay items existed for this sort of thing on a professional level, that is, until I discovered that mermaiding is an actual hobby for (relatively) normal people. And thus, I re-entered my mermaid phase back in January.
There is a surprising amount of knowledge needed for mermaids, which I consumed rather quickly given the nature of my fixations. I now know a myriad of different consumer tail manufacturers, the difference between silicon tails and fabric tails, what monofins fit in what tail skins, the works. It's pretty intense. Even before I saw myself engaging in the hobby properly, I learned about breath holding and proper swimming techniques as well as safety measures. The people in the community make it extremely easy and welcoming for newcomers, and there seems to be a lot of people coming into this niche. And for those who really have a passion for it, it seems to go beyond just the aesthetics of all of it. These people love the joy that they bring other people (particularly kids) through their hobbies, not to mention the body-positive narrative that surrounds the whole thing. The diversity of the community is wonderful and unexpectedly supportive of trans people in particular. These people have made their dreams real and encourage others to do the same. Once I started to see that, I realized that maybe this would be a good fit for me. So I became determined.
My first step was cut out for me. I needed a monofin, which is basically a piece of equipment that allows one to swim faster in the water using dolphin kick. There are a variety of styled monofins which fit into their respective tail skins, so I ordered one that is intended for beginners. I had to carefully hide the package from my parents (they don't like the whole thing) and somehow got away with it. After that, I was itching to get in the water and test it out. There aren't many local places near me where I can do that for free, so I went to a fitness center near me to test it out in their Olympic pool. I found it to be suffocating to practice in such a shallow area, but I got the basics down. That was back in April, though. For the last few months I've just been impatiently awaiting a better opportunity and scrolling through different sites looking for the perfect tail skin for me.
By the looks of it, tail skins are the epitome of self-expression for mermaid hobbyists. They pick out tails that speak to them and they become staple pieces. Highly realistic tails are in the $400-$1000 range, but cheaper tails are anywhere from $20-$100. I have a few saved in a folder in my phone, aspirations for if I continue with the hobby. Getting a tail skin will truly make me bona fide, but right now I'm content with just swimming like a mermaid and not looking like one.
Well, I'm more than content, actually. Today was the second time I was able to break out the monofin, and not just in a shallow pool. I'm alone at my college apartment in Galloway at the moment, about 20 minutes from several notable areas around the Jersey Shore. I decided I wanted to utilize some of this time and find a place to truly get the mermaid experience. Fortunately for me, that place is just two miles from my new home and it is immaculate. Just a short hike off-campus from my university sits a small, isolated swimming hole that I call Dream Lake. I found out about it on some obscure website, and headed over this afternoon, monofin in hand. When I approached, cicadas hummed around me in the pine trees and it was all I could hear. Looking to the far end of the lake there are lilypads and assorted aquatic flora that I'm familiar with, as well as a small rocky beach near the edge of the western side. I dipped my feet into the water, which was suprisingly still and warm. The sunkissed surface made it all transparent, and I could see down to the lakebed which was alive with small schools of fish and algae. At that point the lake was begging me to come closer, and so I did.
The experience was remarkably acute. Even with the fin on, I hardly had to get used to it even though I was a bit skittish about being in the woods alone. With my first stroke, I swam some 20 feet out from the shore and emerged just above eye level, where I was met by hundreds of blue damselflies hovering timidly on the surface. I remained observant about that for awhile, and then I floated on my back and stared at the sky, where about a dozen laughing gulls were congregated above. When I closed my eyes, I could hear and feel everything in the ecosystem. I was alone, but at the same time I wasn't. Nature is always busy, it's hard to feel alone in it. The complexities of a space like Dream Lake become clear when I take the time to become part of them. For two hours kicked around like a true merperson, and simultaneously embraced the feeling of fulfillment that had waited 15 years to come to fruition. It was an astounding feeling.
I think we often treat our dreams, particularly those of our childhood, as far-off ideas that will never truly become realities. I guess when you actually seek them out, they are a lot closer than they seem. Today may have been one of the happiest days of my life. This contentedness is so powerful and important to me. It's not every day that a dream comes true, after all. But today, one did, so now I'm a mermaid I guess. Thanks, internet.
