Chapter 3 — The Driftwood Café Pep Talk

Claire

The Driftwood Café was exactly the kind of place Jenna would pick for a heart-to-heart: cozy, unassuming, and filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and buttery pastries. The mismatched chairs, some with wobbly legs, and the local art on the walls—abstract seascapes and portraits of laughing strangers—gave the café its offbeat charm. Nearby, a community bulletin board bristled with flyers: yoga classes, a charity swim meet, a watercolor workshop, and a hand-drawn ad for the swim league. My eyes lingered on it, the bold, looping letters seeming to challenge me to keep going. I looked away quickly, unsure if I was ready to accept that challenge.

I sat across from Jenna at a scuffed wooden table by the window, my latte cupped in both hands. The foam swirled lazily on the surface, as though mocking my spinning thoughts. Every time the door opened, the faint ocean breeze drifted in, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the distant cry of gulls.

“Alright,” Jenna said, breaking the silence with her signature no-nonsense tone. “Spill. How was it?”

I sighed, resting my chin in my hand. “Disastrous. I’m pretty sure I became a cautionary tale for the entire swim league. ‘This is what happens when you don’t exercise for a decade, folks.’”

Jenna’s lips twitched, but she held back a laugh. “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Oh, it was worse,” I said, shaking my head. “I slipped off the starting block. Twice. I swallowed so much water I’m pretty sure I’m now part fish. And then there’s Vanessa.”

“Vanessa?” Jenna raised an eyebrow, her tone equal parts curiosity and mischief.

“The league’s resident mermaid-slash-Olympic hopeful,” I said with a dry laugh. “She’s tall, gorgeous, and swims like she was born in the water. She also has this uncanny ability to make me feel like a particularly inept sea cucumber. It’s a talent, really.”

Jenna leaned back in her chair, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “And the coach? Ryan, right? What’s his deal?”

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “He’s... fine. A little too laid-back for my taste, but I guess that’s his thing. He’s like... I don’t know, a golden retriever in human form—friendly, energetic, but not exactly detail-oriented.”

Jenna smirked, tilting her head. “Sounds like someone’s been paying attention.”

I rolled my eyes and pointed my spoon at her. “Don’t start.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, Claire, you need to give this a real shot. One bad practice doesn’t mean you’re doomed.”

“Jenna, I’m not just bad—I’m terrible. I can’t even dive properly without looking like a flailing... I don’t know, pelican.” I fidgeted with the edge of my napkin, my gaze fixed on the table. “And don’t even get me started on how ridiculous I felt in that swim cap. I looked like an egg with legs.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Claire, you’re being way too hard on yourself. When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it? No deadlines, no metrics, no performance reviews—just... fun?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. When was the last time? My mind flipped through the pages of my recent life: endless meetings, late nights at the office, weekends spent catching up on work. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something just for the joy of it. The realization hit me like a plunge into cold water.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve spent so much time trying to control everything—your job, your life, your image—that you’ve forgotten how to just be. That’s what this is about: finding your smile again. Not impressing anyone, not proving anything. Just letting yourself enjoy the messiness of it all.”

Her words settled over me, heavy and uncomfortably true. I took a sip of my latte, the warmth a small comfort against the ache in my chest. “It’s not that easy,” I said quietly.

“I know,” Jenna said, her tone gentle but firm. “But nothing worth doing ever is. You’ve been running on fumes for years, Claire. This is your chance to slow down, to heal. And if that means flailing around like a pelican for a while, then so be it.”

I wanted to argue, to explain how impossible it felt to let go, but the look in her eyes stopped me. It wasn’t just encouragement—it was something deeper, a quiet determination born from her own experiences. Jenna had walked away from a corporate career to build her yoga studio, chasing fulfillment instead of stability. She knew what it meant to take a leap of faith, to embrace uncertainty.

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “You really know how to sell it.”

She grinned. “That’s my job as your best friend. Speaking of which, let me tell you about the time I tried to teach yoga to a group of toddlers. Spoiler alert: I ended up covered in glitter and nearly broke my nose tripping over a stuffed unicorn. But you know what? It was hilarious. Sometimes, the best moments come from the biggest messes.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the image of Jenna tangled in chaos breaking through my wall of self-pity.

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward again. “Tell me something good. Was there at least one thing you liked about it?”

I hesitated, sifting through the chaos of my first practice. The smell of chlorine, the echo of voices bouncing off the tiled walls, the rhythmic splash of water... And then I remembered something.

“There was this moment,” I said slowly, “when I was floating on my back, trying to catch my breath. For a few seconds, everything went quiet. The water just... held me. It felt like all the noise in my head disappeared, and it was just me and the water. Peaceful.”

Jenna’s smile softened. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Hold onto that feeling, Claire. The rest will come with time.”

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the doubt. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could learn to let go, to stop chasing perfection and start embracing the messy, imperfect process of being human.

“Alright,” I said, straightening in my chair. “I’ll go back. But I’m setting a goal: no falling off the starting block next time.”

Jenna laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “Deal. Now, let’s order some scones to celebrate your bravery. You deserve it.”

As the waitress approached, I glanced out the window, the ocean gleaming in the distance. The waves rolled in and out, constant and unbothered by the chaos of the world around them. I reached up, my fingers brushing the retro stopwatch necklace beneath my blouse, its weight a quiet reminder of the fears I was trying to leave behind. One step at a time, I thought.

For now, I’d settle for surviving my next swim practice without swallowing half the pool.