Do you ever find yourself thinking that you’ve always wanted to learn that one skill but somehow haven’t — and now time seems to be passing you by? Like learning how to play chess. Like learning how to dance the swing. Like learning how to speak — I mean really speak — French.

I feel that way about so many things, but one in particular stares me in the face every day. Early in the morning, I go to the gym in my apartment complex; since it’s so close, I have no excuse. Invariably, I get thirsty during my workout. Fortunately, there’s a water fountain in the gym. It’s the kind you see in many public places in North America. And therein lies the problem. 

I’ve never learned how to drink from a water fountain. Not as a child at school. Not as a youth in university. Not as a working adult when I was travelling through airports. And not even now, as I near my golden age, at my gym. 

I know how to turn it on. I know how to bend over it to reach the water. But then, the trouble hits. I can do no more than wet my lips. Hardly a teaspoon of water actually gets into my mouth; most of it goes down the drain. This experience was no doubt what drove Samuel Taylor Coleridge to write his famous poem; the ancient mariner must have felt my frustration when he said, “Water, water everywhere; nor any drop to drink.”

In my ineptness with water fountains, I find I’m not alone. A post related to this on Reddit’s “No Stupid Questions” has received a gazillion reactions. Also, there are at least five how-to YouTube videos on the topic.

Of course, during the COVID-19 pandemic years, drinking from a water fountain became fraught with risk. Many fountains were turned off and, in a way, I was relieved not to face my nemesis. But now, with mixed emotions, I find they’re back on again.

What’s worse, this skill of being able to drink from a water fountain seems to get only more important with age. As we get older, we need to drink more water for various reasons — including chronic conditions like diabetes or medications like diuretics. Ironically, we also lose our sense of thirst, and therefore we need to consciously drink more water. While we may forget to drink water at home, when we’re out and see a water fountain, we’re rudely reminded that we should be hydrating.

Water is so fundamental that religions have integrated it into their scriptures. The Christian Bible say “the river of God is full of water” (Psalm 65:9). The Hindu Vedas say “O! Water stream come near me; you are the elixir of immortality” (Atharvaveda 3:13:6). The Islamic Quran says that God “made every living thing from water” (Quran 21:30).

Water is such an essential part of our lives that people have waxed eloquent about it. The poet Wystan Hugh Auden said, “Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.” St. Francis of Assisi sang, “Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Water, who is very useful and humble and precious and chaste.” Martial artist Bruce Lee was so inspired by its “formless, shapeless” nature that he urged a complete submission: “Be water, my friend.” 

Writers know that water is so basic that it’s a metaphor for many things. Water can represent challenges, as in Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. It can represent a passage into hell — like the rivers in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Francis Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. In some stories — like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and William Shakespeare’s Hamlet — water represents purification. In Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, water symbolizes freedom; the Mississippi River carries Jim away from slavery and Huck away from his abusive father. 

Water can also be a metaphor for flexibility and rejuvenation and hope. And drinking water can, by association, signify imbibing all those good things. Bolstered by the inspiring quotes from spiritual leaders, enlightened by works from great authors, and armed with practical advice from YouTube videos and Reddit comments from the proletariat, I enter the gym. It is empty, so there are no judging eyes.

I walk up to the water fountain. I do a couple of head rolls and shrugs to loosen up the neck and shoulders. I do my own inimitable version of the Tai Chi ball exercise to stretch my entire body and reach a meditative state. I try not to think of the end goal; I know that a thousand-mile journey begins with a single sip. I recall “…the Master’s warning that we should not practice anything except self-detaching immersion.”

I slowly bend over the water fountain. I firmly press the button. I calmly watch the parabolic arc of water coming from the spout. And, taking a deep breath, I deftly thrust a water bottle into the flow. Mission sort-of accomplished.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.