Thanksgiving weekend brought sunshine and temperatures unheard of in October. Although driving for eight hours to my folk’s country house in Western New York is more car-time than any of us were happy about (one day of driving, two days there, another day of driving), it was worth it. The drive was breathtaking. A wonderful mini-holiday.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Sometimes my emotions come out of me like a flood of heavy water, crashing over my common sense and logic and drowning me in the cold murky darkness of fear. It is at these times that I long to be a stronger swimmer, to keep my head above the water and learn to swim away from the current rather than to fight it.
I am tired of swimming. I’m so tired and I feel like my life is a constant game of catching up when it should simply be one of existing. I cannot possibly get as much done as I wish to and yet here I am, struggling to swim, struggling to keep my head above the water, to ignore my tired aching muscles that tell me to stop, to let go, to give in and sink effortlessly down.
I would rather float. I would rather lie on my back in a calm cool sea, hot sun baking down from above and exist in the moment. But the sea isn’t calm and I have to work hard simply to stay afloat.
But I will. And some time the sea will calm, the crashing waves becoming concentric ripples, the surface reflective like an enormous mirror showing off the beauty of the world. And then I will lie back and breathe deeply and feel thankful that I know how to swim, because the joy of floating is much greater when you’ve had to work hard to get there.
There is nothing in the world more delightful than the tuneless singing of a two-year-old. Or at least if there is, I don’t know what.
