There is a movie I saw in my twenties. Gattaca. It never really left me. One line from it settled into my life. Like a quiet tune you can’t stop humming.
“I never saved anything for the swim back.”
Back then, I was an underdog playing a rigged game. The film didn’t feel like a story. It felt like someone had told me a secret.
It gave me a simple, hard truth. To beat impossible odds, you can’t look for a safety net. You have to give yourself entirely to the present. You just swim forward, knowing there is no return trip. You leave nothing in reserve. No backup plan. No return ticket. You sprint forward with nothing left behind. You have to burn through everything you’ve got. And only then, sometimes, the impossible opens up.
A lot of time has passed. I am forty now. In some ways, I have crossed over. I hold better cards today. I am closer to the establishment. And yet, the fight hasn’t ended. It just changed shape. Deep down, I am still an underdog.
Before the mind can freeze itself calculating how to win, the body has to answer first.
“I never saved anything for the swim back.”
It is still the only rule I lean on. The one I return to when the numbers are bad and the world doesn’t care.
I often think about baseball. Bottom of the ninth. The closer takes the mound. Nobody expects him to save his arm. He throws every pitch like it is the only one that matters.
I want to live with that kind of focus. But not just for a single inning. From the first pitch to the last. No pacing yourself. No saving energy for tomorrow.
That’s what it means to live without regret.
Nothing saved for the swim back.
