It’s never a good sign when you start the day at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. and your outfit includes long underwear under your yoga pants.
Yes, today is the day that I rafted the Rio Grande ‘Box’ with my Dad and one of his closest friends.
Well, technically, we couldn’t raft the actual ‘Box’ because there wasn’t enough water but we froze our asses off in level 2-4 rapids anyway.
I wasn’t looking forward to this trip. I was tired and mid-divorce/new relationship and worried about money because #taxes.
We looked like little blue smurfs as we waddled through the mud and into our boat. The second we sat down, the wind started blowing, effectively freezing the tears and snot to our faces.
I braced myself for the brutal 5 hours that awaited me.
Justine, our guide, pushed us off and we began to float.
Miraculously, fifteen minutes later, the wind went back to where it came from and the sun appeared from behind a cloud.
The only sound was the rippling water beneath us.
My whole body relaxed as though it hadn’t taken a breath in months. I looked around, surprised to find that my thoughts had calmed with the wind.
As we glided along, I realized how much my life had fallen out of ‘flow’ (there’s nothing like moving water to show you this).
I had spent the last few months trying to stand up in the river of my life. I was fighting, bracing myself for endless battle. All the effort was fruitless and wasted on a current that would never stop as long as I was alive.
‘Paddles ready! Here comes a level 4!’
The rapids tossed us every which way, we careened violently into sharp rocks, our socks soaked through in minutes.
All I felt was calm. I felt powerful and in control. A balance of effort and surrender.
The river calmed once again, we could hear the birds.
This is life, I thought to myself.