Ideas and insights from the edge of the pool and beyond.

Navigating Neva: Reflections in Motion

This is the space where I share my unfiltered thoughts, lessons from the pool deck, and reflections on leadership, mindfulness, and community.



Presence Over Perfection:

What Swim Teachers Can Learn from Mindfulness

Most of us step into teaching with a genuine desire to help—but sometimes fear, pressure, and self-doubt get in the way. Whether you’re guiding adults through their first swim lesson, supporting a child who’s terrified of the water, or sitting on the lifeguard stand for the very first time, mindfulness can be a powerful anchor. Not the “sit on a cushion for an hour” kind, but the real kind—presence in the moment, without judgment, without pressure, without needing to be perfect.

I remember my very first day on the lifeguard stand—ready, ready, ready. My heart was pounding, but not because I doubted myself. I was afraid because it felt like every lap swimmer could drown at any moment, and I had to be ready to jump into action. Those first 20 minutes were some of the longest of my life. I’ll never forget my first Saturday either—the spot between my knees and thighs where the lifeguard tube rested got badly sunburned, and I couldn’t believe no one from my “team” had warned me. That was my first real lesson: sometimes we learn by sitting through the discomfort and discovering what no one told us.

But teaching? Teaching was different. I became an instructor, but unlike lifeguarding, I didn’t feel “ready-ready” when I stepped on deck with a class. I studied the lesson plans over and over, but still felt unprepared. Even now, when a new course or update rolls out, I don’t feel ready. It always takes a few classes before I settle in and find comfort. But here’s the thing—I still have to teach them, ready or not. “Ready” in teaching isn’t a feeling—it’s a choice to step in, hold space, and learn alongside the students until confidence grows.

I remember my very first day on the lifeguard stand—ready, ready, ready. My heart was pounding, but not because I doubted myself. I was afraid because it felt like every lap swimmer could drown at any moment, and I had to be ready to jump into action. Those first 20 minutes were some of the longest of my life. I’ll never forget my first Saturday either—the spot between my knees and thighs where the lifeguard tube rested got badly sunburned, and I couldn’t believe no one from my “team” had warned me. That was my first real lesson: sometimes we learn by sitting through the discomfort and discovering what no one told us.

But teaching? Teaching was different. I became an instructor, but unlike lifeguarding, I didn’t feel “ready-ready” when I stepped on deck with a class. I studied the lesson plans over and over, but still felt unprepared. Even now, when a new course or update rolls out, I don’t feel ready. It always takes a few classes before I settle in and find comfort. But here’s the thing—I still have to teach them, ready or not. “Ready” in teaching isn’t a feeling—it’s a choice to step in, hold space, and learn alongside the students until confidence grows.

>>>>>

I’ve put together a free downloadable PDF, Teaching with Presence: Mindfulness in the Pool, that walks through these five challenges (with shifts and practice tips) in a simple one-pager format. Print it, keep it on deck, or share it with your team.

Download your free copy here! 

 

I have a 5 page PDF file to go with this.  It was too large to upload.  You can email me and I'll send it: mailto:navigatingneva@gmail.com

 

 

Monday Mind-Opener: When Smart Becomes Stuck

What happens when intelligence turns into a barrier instead of a bridge?

We all know people with degrees, certifications, or titles. Their education is real, and it matters. But sometimes what follows is a subtle trap: education turns into jargon, jargon creates distance, and distance erodes the very thing education was meant to build — understanding.

I’ve noticed how easily conversations can stall in that gap. Sometimes it happens with semantics — I’ll argue a point, and the other person will argue back with different vocabulary, until I realize with a jolt that we’re actually saying the same thing. We’ve been circling in loops, debating words instead of ideas. And it’s frustrating, because when someone holds a higher degree, you expect them to catch that faster, not slower.
 

Other tires it happens with tradition. There’s no circling, no back-and-forth. Just a wall. The conversation shuts down with “That’s how it’s always been done.” And to me, in a world where science and learning are always evolving, refusing to leave room for nuance or new understanding doesn’t feel like wisdom — it feels like ignorance.

In both cases, the dialogue doesn’t move forward. And the irony is, it’s not for lack of intelligence. It’s because intelligence itself has become the barrier
 

That’s when I realized: the degree on the wall is only one kind of mastery. The deeper kind — the true master — rarely needs announcing
 

You don’t spot a true master by the letters after their name. You notice them by the way they carry their knowledge with quiet confidence. They don’t need to look things up or prove themselves — they can do it, explain it, and then break it down again so anyone can understand. They treat you with kindness. They don’t get frustrated. They just teach, humbly, like you’re a human worth their time.

That’s the difference. People with papers often treat you like you’re beneath them, like you should already know how to talk on their level. But the real masters are the ones who can communicate at any level. They don’t make you feel small — they make you feel smarter.

And here’s the paradox: the louder someone is about their degree, the less convincing they feel. The ones who never mention it? The ones who just show up and do the work, day after day? They’re usually the smartest people in the room

I once knew a man like that — a real master of his craft. He probably made a fraction of what the degree-holders made, but he was the one worth learning from. And now he’s gone. We never wrote down his teaching. We never preserved it. And all that wisdom left with him. It was a sobering reminder: when we measure mastery only by papers and credentials, we risk overlooking the very people who carry wisdom in their hands, their hearts, and their daily work.

That loss made me reflect more deeply. How many true masters have we overlooked because they didn’t have the letters? How many classrooms, job sites, and conversations are shaped more by status than substance? And how much more could we all learn if we valued humility, clarity, and curiosity as highly as degrees?

That’s what mastery really is. Not paper, but practice. Not status, but substance. Not winning debates, but opening doors.

So I find myself asking:

  • Do people leave our conversations clearer, or more confused?
  • Do I simplify skills, or do I hide behind jargon?
  • Am I showing what I know, or helping others grow?

 

Because true masters don’t have to tell you who they are. You know them when you meet them. And maybe the real challenge for each of us is this: Will others know us as masters because of the paper we earned — or because of the lives we’ve helped change?

One pager: For Swimming Instructors

One Pager: For Aquatic Leaders

 

When the Path Is Blocked: How My Struggle to Read—and to Swim—Taught Me to Teach Differently


 

When the Path Is Blocked: How My Struggle to Read—and to Swim—Taught Me to Teach Differently

When I was a child, learning didn’t come easy.

I remember sitting at the dining-room table with my aunt—an early-childhood teacher with the biggest heart—and trying to make sense of words that refused to behave. She’d smile patiently and say, “Sound it out.”

But my brain didn’t hear the sounds the way hers did. The rule never worked for me. Each time she said it, my nervous system tightened a little more, until frustration bubbled over into tears, anger, and eventually shutdown. I wasn’t defiant; I was blocked.

Those moments are etched in my memory not because she failed me—she loved me fiercely—but because the method did. And when a method doesn’t match a mind, no amount of love can make it click.

Years earlier, the same mismatch nearly killed me.

In 1987, in Savannah, Georgia, I drowned. I became part of that 48% of childhood drownings that happen in or around the home. Mine was non-fatal, but it changed everything
 

The “solution” was swim lessons—traditional 1980s style. Sit on the wall. Wait your turn. Get pushed in. Sink or swim.

But just like phonics, that formula didn’t fit me either. My body remembered the fear even when my mind couldn’t name it. The more I was told to jump, the tighter I froze.

By age seven, I did what I’d done at the table years before: I found my own way. I taught myself to swim—not through pressure, but through curiosity, repetition, and trust in my own rhythm. I learned to listen to my body instead of fighting it. That self-taught moment became my first lesson in neurodiversity, long before I knew the word existed.

 Teaching Through the Nervous System, Not Around It

Every student—whether in water or in a classroom—has a nervous system that speaks first. Some shout through tears, others through silence. When we interpret that as resistance instead of communication, we miss the real message: this path is blocked.

Most teaching models are built for the majority. But every “majority method” leaves someone behind. For me, it was phonics and forced submersion. For others, it might be group pressure, bright lights, or being told “you’re fine” when their body says they’re not.

That’s why Joyful Waters exists. It’s not just a swim curriculum; it’s a framework for emotional safety and sensory understanding. It’s what I wish little-me had that day on the pool wall—a teacher who saw the fear as information, not failure.

 When Systems Break Down

I used to think I was broken because I didn’t fit the box. Now I realize the box was the problem.

We’ve built systems—academic, corporate, even aquatic—that confuse standardization with success. We measure the wrong things: compliance over comprehension, toughness over trust.

And while I can’t rewrite the education system or redesign higher ed from my living room, I can rewrite the way swimming is taught.

I can choose to train instructors who lead with presence instead of performance, patience instead of pressure.

I can take every child who cries, hesitates, or freezes and remind them their body isn’t wrong—it’s communicating.
 

 The Lesson Beneath the Lesson

True mastery isn’t about having the letters after your name.

It’s about being able to translate what you know into something another person can feel safe learning.

The real masters don’t make you feel small—they make you feel seen.

They don’t prove what they know—they share it freely.

They don’t force you through the fear—they guide you around it.

That’s the teacher I’ve become because of those long nights at the table and that long moment underwater.

 The Mission Now

So when I talk about #ZeroDrownings, it’s not just a campaign; it’s personal.

It’s the promise that no child should ever drown—physically, emotionally, or educationally—because someone refused to adapt.
 

I can’t fix every broken system. But I can build a new one in the water.

And I can keep teaching, training, and speaking until compassion and competence become the same skill.

Because readiness isn’t a feeling—it’s a choice.

And resilience doesn’t quit—it adapts.

mar
2020

Back to the Pool: Why America’s Next Great Movement Starts in the Water

By Neva Nicole Fairfield, Founder of Georgia Swim School & Safe Shores Georgia

The Missing Scene in America’s Story of Play

Every Saturday across America, the ball fields fill up.
Baseball caps, team tents, folding chairs, and packed coolers line the sidelines. Parents cheer. Siblings run the bases after the game. Communities gather.

But drive past the public pool, and too often, the gates are locked.
The water sits still.

Once upon a time, the pool was our neighborhood gathering place — a summer ritual, a backdrop for childhood, a marker of community life. Today, pools close faster than they open. Insurance hurdles, staffing shortages, and shrinking recreation budgets have quietly drained one of the most powerful tools we have for safety, connection, and joy.

It’s time to bring America back to the pool.

We Don’t Have a Participation Problem — We Have a Culture Problem

Every year, millions of kids play youth sports.

3 to 4 million play baseball, basketball, or soccer.

500,000 participate in competitive swimming.

Barely 50,000 play water polo.

Those numbers aren’t just statistics — they’re a reflection of how our culture gathers.
We’ve built massive ecosystems around land-based play, while water has been left behind.

Swimming is too often seen as either competitive (“join a swim team”) or corrective (“take lessons so you don’t drown”).
What’s missing is the middle path — the everyday play that turns water from a survival skill into a family habit.

The Lost Middle Ground: Play

When I teach parents and children, I see it firsthand: the moment fear turns into freedom. A baby learns to splash. A parent laughs instead of hovering. A toddler finally blows bubbles. These are not small milestones; they are the building blocks of belonging.

Play is the missing ingredient.
We’ve made water serious — a place for lap swimmers, lifeguards, or lessons — but not for laughter.

When families return to the pool to play, everything changes.
Comfort grows. Confidence builds. Safety follows naturally.

That’s how every successful youth sport thrives — through togetherness.
Aquatics can, too.

Families Are the Catalyst

Every thriving youth sport shares one undeniable truth: families participate.

Parents coach.
Siblings cheer.
Weekends revolve around the activity.

That family rhythm creates belonging.
And belonging creates momentum.

Imagine if we gave water the same cultural space.
Imagine parents meeting at the pool deck instead of the bleachers, toddlers chasing balls across the shallow end, teenagers helping their younger siblings float.
The pool becomes not a luxury, but a lifeline — a place where movement, mindfulness, and memory meet.

When families return to the water, the idea of “water safety” shifts from fear to familiarity.

What We Lost — and What We Can Rebuild

Decades ago, public pools were more than places to cool off — they were anchors of public life.
In many towns, the pool was where everyone met: families, neighbors, and generations of lifeguards who became role models.

But in the years since, we’ve lost thousands of public pools nationwide. Aging infrastructure, maintenance costs, and social division turned what was once a symbol of unity into a space of scarcity.

Rebuilding that infrastructure is important, but rebuilding trust and participation is just as vital.

We don’t need every family to compete. We need them to show up — to float, play, learn, and connect.

Teaching Through Connection, Not Compliance

At Georgia Swim School, parents often ask me,

“How many lessons will it take for my child to learn to swim?”

It’s a reasonable question — but the wrong one.

Swimming isn’t a race to the finish line; it’s a relationship with water.
Each child moves at their own pace, just as each family builds their own comfort level.

Our focus isn’t on quick fixes or rigid checklists — it’s on creating what I call “memory moments.”
The giggle after a successful glide. The relief when a child finally lets go of the wall. The shared pride when a parent realizes, “We did it together.”

Those are the real milestones — the ones that build lifelong safety and joy.

Safety Begins with Access and Belonging

We cannot separate drowning prevention from access.
Safety doesn’t begin with rules; it begins with relationship.

When a child grows up around water — safely, consistently, joyfully — they develop body awareness, calm, and capability.
When a parent feels confident supervising, modeling, or even playing, they model courage, not fear.

Communities that normalize family swimming normalize safety itself.
That’s the pathway to “Zero Drownings.”
It’s not just teaching children to survive — it’s helping families thrive together in the water.

Reimagining the Pool as the New Playground

The future of aquatics depends on reframing the pool as a place of everyday recreation — not an elite training space or an occasional summer outing.

When a pool becomes a family’s weekly ritual, it transforms from a facility into a living classroom.
Water play strengthens coordination, social bonds, and emotional regulation. It’s movement and mindfulness rolled into one.

The pool can become what the playground once was — the center of community life.

The Invitation: America, Let’s Swim Again

This isn’t just about reopening pools; it’s about reopening a mindset.
It’s about recognizing that the most powerful thing we can do for safety, health, and family well-being is to make water part of our lives again.

So here’s the invitation:

If you’re a parent — take your child to the pool this weekend, not for lessons, but for laughter.

If you’re a city leader — invest in your aquatic spaces with the same passion you give to your ballfields.

If you’re an instructor or coach — teach with connection before correction.

Because every splash matters. Every giggle is a step toward confidence. Every family that returns to the pool brings us one step closer to Zero Drownings.

The Closing Wave

We don’t need to reinvent aquatics — we just need to rediscover it.
We’ve built a country around fields and courts; now it’s time to build one around pools.

The water has always been waiting for us — calm, forgiving, ready to hold us up.
All we have to do is step back in.

America, let’s go to the pool.

Family Play Starts Here

Two great ways to make it happen right now:

🔹 Otter Ball — a fast, floating family game that gets everyone in the pool together.
🔹 SKWIM — an inclusive, team-style water game where swimmers and non-swimmers can play side-by-side.

Together, these games make the pool what it was always meant to be:
a place for connection, movement, and joy.

If you aren’t there yet — can’t play, can’t swim, not yet water-acclimated — Joyful Waters is where you begin.
It’s a gentle, connection-first approach to water that builds trust before technique and confidence before competition.

Let’s go back to the pool, America.

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