Well, not exactly. It kept getting algae and turning green for years, though it made for a great Kermit the frog “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” moment.

So we did what had to be done. We drained it of all that might be clouding it up.

I’ve been just as foggy. Instead of being filled with bacteria, I’ve had my fill of negative emotions.

See, I told myself, I had no business doing that play. All that fear that I wasn’t good enough, even if you could see me hidden in the back row—something that was supposed to be fun I made into a competitive sport.

I was trying to be the old me–the one that could shame myself, bounce back and pretend that everything was fine even when I was not feeling it.

So, what if I made a fool of myself, and I shouldn’t have been up there?

So what if audience members who saw me afterward could only comment on what a great show it was (they never even saw me on stage.)

I felt lousy about myself, and I couldn’t even miss the show or the cast; you know, the breakup phase of a relationship, shows are the same way, not this one. I was too tired to care.

And I made some incredible friends–it deepened friendships, and I can’t take that away, though I tried to forget all about that good stuff.

No wonder all that negativity drained me–it would have exhausted the life out of anyone.

And, just like that, my pool was drained, too.

I needed to drain myself of all that emotional negativity, but it wasn’t until I told a friend what a poor job I did of the play that she said, “You’re my hero. You got up there only a year after you had cancer. It’s amazing.”

And truth be told, even in January, I wasn’t physically prepared to be doing this play.

But screw being physically ready. I wasn’t emotionally charged. Not for the barrage of insults I’d give myself for not being good enough. Who did I expect to be, a Broadway star? A girl can dream, can’t she?

But then I started seeing things the way my friend saw them. (And Alex, too, to be honest.) I did it; I should be proud. Okay! I’m proud.

Only all that negativity placed an emotional toll on me and tired me out. I couldn’t do much of anything last week.

But regardless of how tired I was, I could write. So I finished a 6,000-word essay I’d been writing for a contest.

And I got to the point where I got a good feeling about it, and I showed it to Alex, and he said, “Submit it.”

And I did. And just with that one action, I realized what my friend was trying to tell me earlier in the week; I’m a winner.

I told a story of all the things that had drained me over the past five years, and I made sense of it, made it funny, and turned it right-side-up again. I wrote the way Forrest Gump walked.

I made a story out of being a midlife outcast for hell week. And afterward, I thought about the two errors I should have caught before submitting it, rats! And then I thought it was good, or else I wouldn’t have submitted it. And I could win, or else I wouldn’t have paid the $20.

And, miraculously, the water’s filled back up in the pool. It’s so clear and blue; the way water should be.

And looking at my reflection again, it hit me, I’ve already won.

Being in that play, even if it was a cameo appearance, I’ve won.

Writing that essay for that contest, even if I forget I even entered it come October, I’ve won.

I’m not so green after all. I’m not drained and washed up; I’m renewed, like the pool. just like that, and on Easter, too!