Personal Narrative Analysis

As humans there is a set of things we can do intrinsically and a set of things we cannot do. In between lies an infinite spectrum of things some of us can and some cannot do. Some of these abilities are rare, while others pervasive. Swimming fits in that gray area, but it seems – at least to this native Californian boy – farther on the pervasive side. Everyone knows the secret to effortlessly defying Archimedes’ Principle of buoyancy, yet somehow I was left out.

I have long ago given up on any dream of learning to swim. Once you have been the 12 year old taking lessons alongside a dozen 5-7 year olds in a freezing community center pool, it just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. But I’m not one to go down without a fight. I wanted to confront the

I felt an air of pride in preparation for the activity, knowing that I was going into this fight at a severe disadvantage, but fighting for it anyways. Perhaps this was a symptom of the innate way humans view these situations. I saw myself as an underdog in that moment, someone who was unlikely to succeed in the face of a greater adversary. Despite their underachievement, there seems to be redeeming qualities to these so called “lovable losers.” When given a choice between a group seen as an unsuccessful “underdog” and a successful “topdog”, people were shown far more likely to root for the underdog than the topdog. Additionally, those who rooted for the underdog appeared to root more fiercely than those who rooted for the topdog. (Allison et al. 2555-2556) There is an undeniable appeal in doing something you are unlikely to succeed in, in seeking out struggle and to taking the hard road. This appeal stems from the perceived bravery of the underdog, the honor in “going down swinging” and giving the best shot you can, and the idea that there is some equality and justice in the world for these underdogs. As Michael Lewis eloquently pens in Moneyball, “The pleasure of rooting for Goliath is that you can expect to win. The pleasure of rooting for David is that, while you don’t know what to expect, you stand at least a chance of being inspired.” (177) The inspiration and justice in this case would

These feelings can be explained through an absurdist perspective. The absurdist viewpoint, in philosophy, can be summed up as the idea that the universe has no meaning. In absurdism it is accepted that one can never find life’s truth – an inflexible condition - but should continue to search for little truths vigorously in order to fulfil their life. (Taran 240) The prescription for this search is what Camus called revolt, a chaotic process of doing anything and everything so long as it is for your own existential betterment (Sharpe 589). This is the feeling of life I detected coursing through me on that day. As I walked to the pool, I could feel the power of my revolt, which I had broadly identified as excitement and pride. I was not concerned with the outcome of the events, just that I was able to say at the end of the day, “I did this. I tried it, it didn’t work out, but I at least did it.” This was my revolt and this was my rebellion. A rebellion against my own, at least temporarily inflexible condition: not knowing how to swim (I could learn how to swim over time, for the time being, it seems an impossible barrier to overcome, hence, inflexible). Additionally, much of the academic discussion of absurdism revolves around death and whether there is any true meaning in death if there is no