“At the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books.”― Norman Maclean
The last time Colorado graced me with its presence, my family decided to take a float trip down the San Juan River. There were other options, of course. One site advertised everything from a calm float trip with less than twenty paddles to a Class 4 and 5 rapid, “Advanced” option. Characteristics in the latter included: 1- Continuous paddling in uninterrupted white water, 2- Very good physical fitness required, and 3- You might die.
Okay, they didn’t mention that last one until the fine print paperwork.
For a family with four year olds? We chose to float a few miles peacefully without even the faintest danger. I still have an iPad wall paper image of my daughter laid out across my legs, her hat barely hanging onto her head, as I steered us in a one-man inflatable kayak.
The most exciting moment of the day came when my daughter turned our meandering journey into an Olympic race: We in our highly maneuverable and agile kayak versus them, in their 10-person monster raft whose weighted down base came inches from the bottom of the river.
Safe to say, we won.
Actually “Safe to say” describes our trip. It was safe. And I’m glad for that, especially with young kids. But the wilder part of me wondered: Could I have handled the advanced excursion? I wouldn’t find out that day.
If we pay attention, our life is a mixture of rough waters and float trips. In unpredictable moments, life chooses our terrain for us, and we navigate the rocks and rapids on the fly. More often, though, we have more say in the type of waters we travel.
I don’t wake up each morning hoping to be thrown from my raft and pulled under by a class five rapid. But it would do us well to take an introspective look at how we approach our trip down life’s river. Until we discover the parts of of us which yearn for rough waters, we live unsettled, disconnected, and in fear of desire. And this means one thing: We lose heart as we float the river of complacency.
Do you earnestly seek out calm, easy streams? Or do you initiate pursuit toward the rough waters, knowing the risk will resurrect and unearth the foreign yet familiar voice which calls to you from within?
This voice yearns for more than just adventure. It beckons us on the journey toward remembering, recovering, and becoming. Unfortunately float trips rarely produce this transformation.
But when the voice of our heart cries out louder than the roar of the rapids, we know we are ready for this journey toward more.
