For mid-July, it was a cold morning. Gray clouds hovered over the pool and the summer breeze was brisk and chilly.

And yet we gathered to swim. All shapes and sizes, ages and demographics. Some obviously athletic, others barely able to walk up the sidewalk to join the line.

We were the faithful -- some who came to swim laps, others to walk in the water for relaxation, exercise and the soothing of aching joints.

We talked a bit shyly about the temperature as we waited for the 8 AM opening.

"It's gonna' be a cold one today."

"Once we get in, it won't be so bad."

"Strange to have such an early break in the heat, isn't it?"

"Only the tough ones out here today."

Some of us knew each other's names, while the rest enjoyed the kind of nameless camaraderie that comes with engaging in the same activity.

Once the young lifeguard let us into the pool area, we found ourselves cheering each other on like little kids. Cover-ups were flung off, swim caps pulled on, none of us covered our bodies like nervous tweenagers. We were done with those games. We strode confidently toward the pool.

I yelled, "I'll go in first and let you all know how it feels!"

I lept in.

They cheered.

I popped up and said, "It's not bad! Join me!"

I watched my new friends create their own entrance plan. Some dipped toes in first and then slowly lowered themselves into the water. I felt secretly superior for my one-fell-swoop approach, which I knew, after decades of swimming, was the fastest way to break the ice, so to speak. But I cheered them on. We exclaimed and proclaimed all of our feelings about the situation. We were in on something together. Everyone was smiling.

I watched the water walkers enter via steps. Some chose to keep their chests and arms out of the water, hands held above the surface like it was a hot stove. Others dipped all the way under and then shivered as they began to walk, their upper bodies now wet and goosebumpy from the wind.

As I spent the first few moments kicking with a kick board, I could hear the water walkers chit chat:

"Where are you going for vacation?"

"Remind me the name of your cat?"

"How long did your grandkids stay in town?"

"When did you get that diagnosis?"

They split into groups to chat and then organically reorganized themselves into new groups as they continued to walk.

The teenage lifeguard, huddled in the main office with her hoodie pulled tight against the chill, put music on the loudspeakers: Billy Joel, Leo Sayers, even the Bee Gees, for Lord's sake! I broke into a grin. How did they know to play the music of my teenage years? Wink, wink ...

As each lap swimmer finished their workout and hopped out, racing to wrap themselves in their towels, those left in the pool congratulated them for being brave, tough and seizing the day!

I felt joy bubbling up in my soul. I knew I was witnessing something special. Ordinary and special.

After a hot shower, I walked out of the pool area past a group of water walkers who were huddling around each other waiting for their friend. She later emerged from the locker room, announcing, "You know why it took me 12 minutes just to go the bathroom? Because it took me that long to get my wet swimsuit back on this body!" pointing to her somewhat buxom self.

Her friends erupted in laughter.

And so did I.

I couldn't help it! She was funny and self-deprecating and unflappable and I could tell she was gunning for a laugh.

We all walked down the sidewalk to our cars, giggling like a bunch of old pals and feeling pretty damn proud of ourselves.

We were a community of fools.

We didn't know each other's names or whether we voted Republican or Democrat, we didn't know where anyone stood on any of today's hot-button issues. No one talked about the Epstein files or Stephen Colbert's show being cancelled or what newspapers we read. In that moment, we didn't care.

We were a community of fools.

And had one of us gone under that morning, every single one of us would have rushed to save the other's life.

Never underestimate the power of these ordinary, special moments. They make us human. They create opportunities for joy and connection. They are the first stitch in the process of knitting a divided nation back together. They turn perceived enemies into friends. They make us whole.

If you have the chance, join a community of fools.

And hey? Be the first one in, ok?

Just jump!