Still Swimming: Reflections at the 'End' of a Mermaid Season
Today marked the end of another summer season for Mermaid Transformations at Dormont Swimming Pool.
There are tails drying, equipment waiting to be put away, photographs to sort through, and all of the little remnants that come after a summer spent creating something rather unusual.
And tonight, I found myself thinking about how strange this whole thing really is.
I started Mermaid Transformations because of something I experienced in the water.
Mermaiding brought me a kind of therapeutic joy I hadn't expected. There was playfulness and beauty, of course, but underneath that was something much more interesting: the experience of stepping outside of yourself for a moment and somehow returning more fully alive afterward.
I saw that transformation happen in other people, too.
That was the magic I wanted to share.
What I didn't understand when I started was how much transformation would happen outside of the water.
Making Magic Is Surprisingly Practical
There is something wonderfully ironic about trying to build a mermaid business in Pittsburgh.
We are landlocked. Our swimming season is short. A tropical lagoon this is not.
If a mermaid were designing the most convenient place to establish a career, I'm not entirely sure southwestern Pennsylvania would make the shortlist.
And yet, here we are.
Creating this little aquatic world requires an astonishing amount of very un-magical work.
There are certifications to earn and maintain. Pools to find and rent. Insurance. Government paperwork. Taxes. Websites. Scheduling. Waivers. Social media. Photography.
There are tails and monofins in different sizes, colors and styles so that someone arriving for the first time can find something that feels like them.
And after the photographs and swimming and excitement, all of that equipment comes home again.
It gets washed.
Sprayed.
Dried.
Organized.
Stored.
And eventually packed up to do it all over again.
Somewhere along the way, mermaiding became a real job.
And it turns out being a professional mermaid is actually rather hard work.
Meanwhile, I Was Transforming Too
There is another part of this story that I don't think I fully understood until now.
I created Mermaid Transformations during one stage of my life.
Then, while I was trying to build it, I became a mother.
I've been thinking about the old archetypes of the maiden and the mother—not as rigid identities, but as ways of understanding the enormous thresholds we sometimes cross in our lives.
My relationship with my body changed.
My relationship with time changed.
My priorities changed.
My capacity changed.
Even my relationship with mermaiding changed.
There was a season when I simply didn't have very much to give to this business.
And there were moments when I wondered whether that meant I had moved beyond it.
Perhaps mermaiding belonged to another version of me.
But this season has made me wonder if transformation works differently than that.
Maybe becoming someone new doesn't mean abandoning everyone we have already been.
Maybe we bring those versions of ourselves along.
The Strange Thing About Turning Joy Into Work
This business began with something that gave me respite from ordinary life.
Then I turned it into a business and gave it deadlines, expenses, responsibilities and an inbox.
There is an undeniable irony there.
Something that once felt purely therapeutic can now occasionally be the source of tremendous stress.
Before anyone slips into a tail and enters the water, there is an entire invisible world that has to happen first.
And sometimes, standing in that invisible world, I wonder why I chose something so complicated.
Then I get into the water.
And that question disappears.
Every single time.
There is a moment when everything has finally been unloaded and fitted and organized and explained.
Someone pushes away from the wall.
A monofin catches the water.
They realize they can do something they couldn't do a few minutes earlier.
Someone who was nervous begins laughing.
Someone who felt awkward starts moving beautifully.
An adult gives herself permission to play.
A child realizes that, for the next little while, the impossible thing she imagined is actually happening.
And I feel it again.
That unmistakable feeling:
This is exactly where I am supposed to be.
At the End of This Season
That may be my biggest lesson from this summer.
Mermaid Transformations was never really supposed to be about putting people into tails.
The tail is simply the invitation.
The interesting part is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to cross into something unfamiliar.
Transformation can be beautiful, but it can also be uncomfortable.
It can mean becoming a beginner again.
It can mean inhabiting a changing body.
It can mean building something without knowing whether anyone else will understand it.
Sometimes it means trying to create an aquatic business in a landlocked city and discovering just how many wet tails can fit inside your life.
And sometimes it is simply allowing yourself to play.
Looking back now, I think there was a kind of perfection to this season.
Not the perfection of everything going according to plan, but the kind you sometimes recognize only afterward—the right people arriving, unexpected moments unfolding, lessons revealing themselves slowly, and something becoming clearer simply because you stayed with it.
Perhaps that is part of transformation, too.
You don't always recognize what is happening while you're in the middle of it.
Sometimes you have to reach the shore and look back.
And looking back, I feel incredibly grateful for every person who trusted us enough to enter the water.
For the people who tried something completely new.
For the families who came together.
For the adults who allowed themselves to be imaginative again.
For the people who encouraged this strange idea.
And especially for everyone who has helped Mermaid Transformations continue becoming whatever it is meant to become.
Recently, our little mermaid school found its way into the pages of Pennsylvania Magazine.
Seeing new people discover Mermaid Transformations because of that story feels especially meaningful at the close of this season.
So, if you've only just found us: welcome.
We're still figuring some things out.
We're still transforming.
And despite all the practical reasons a mermaid probably shouldn't thrive here...
we're still swimming.
See you in the water.
— Sammy
Founder, Mermaid Transformations
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