“Let go of the boat!”
I barely heard the words as the
thrashing water of the rapids bounced me around while wave after wave crashed over
my head. The fear and freezing temperature took my breath away as I clung to
the rope that surrounded our upside down raft. Just a few moments earlier, our guide, Neils, had asked us if we wanted to go through the next (and biggest) set of rapids on the river. He explained that the boat could flip, but that he'd navigated this area many times and flipping was something he knew how to handle. As my friend, Ronda, and I considered it, he asked: "Do you want to go big or go home?" That settled it. We were going big.
We were paddling through the roughest part of the rapids, doing just fine, when suddenly the boat was upside down and we were under it in the frigid, snow-melt water. After getting out from under the boat, I found myself repeatedly pummeled with waves that filled my mouth with water every time I tried to take a breath. As I clutched the rope that connected me to the raft, I found myself staring up into Neils' calm, but serious face from his perch on top of the flipped boat. Although his voice was steady and firm, I couldn’t fully process what he
was saying to me.
“Let go of the boat!”
Slowly,
his words sank in. The idea of voluntarily casting myself adrift into the
rapids was terrifying—This is how people drown, I thought to myself. The snug fit of my life jacket was less than
comforting. My friend, Ronda, was behind me in the water—one hand holding onto
the back of my life vest, the other, like mine, clinging to the rope connected
to our boat. Neils’ order defied logic; The boat felt like the only thing that
stood between me and drowning. But it was the right thing to do. Our guide,
despite his youth, was very experienced; he grew up on the river and led
countless friends and family members on this trip. I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. In order for him to flip the boat back over,
Ronda and I would have to let go.
My
river run with Ronda a couple of summers ago is a great metaphor for the way I
make most decisions in my life. I cling to what I know, what seems to be true
and solid, in fear of the unknown. As I research on the Internet and talk to
friends ad nauseam about whatever the decision is at hand, the waves of
information eventually threaten to drown me. I feel as if I can’t breathe. My
thoughts swirl as surely as the whirpools of the river as the water flows over
rocks and fallen trees.
The
funny thing is, the fear and paralysis occur regardless of the size of the
decision. From picking out a movie to deciding on schools for my kids, I have a
very difficult time making choices. Choosing one thing is not choosing something else. What if I make the wrong choice? What
if I miss out on something that would have been better?
Right
now, I’m in the midst of one of those agonizing decisions. After working on my
own for the last 17 years as a consultant in corporate training and
communications, I got burnt out and quit. That was a year and a half ago. At
first, it was nice being at home and I needed some time to regroup and recover,
but now—it’s time. I need to decide
what comes next.
I’m
not qualified for any other careers right now, so that led me to the idea of
going back to school. The problem is that my interests and background don’t
lend themselves to a practical degree like Nursing or Accounting. You know—the
kind of degree that qualifies me to get a job.
My undergrad degree is in Humanities, so the program that appeals to me is a
Masters in Liberal Studies, which, in my opinion, qualifies me for life, but
not so directly for a job.
Do
I enjoy the next two years and get the degree that best suits me? Or do I suck
it up and get a degree in something more practical? Or do I just try to find a
job and skip school all together? The decision feels overwhelming and it will
take a while before I can answer those questions—after all, at least some research is in order for major life
decisions, right?
One
thing that gives me comfort is that although it’s easy for me to get stuck in
the decision-making process, I’ve never regretted a single decision I’ve made.
Apple founder, the late Steve Jobs, said in his Stanford commencement speech in
2005, “…you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them
looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in
your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma,
whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the
difference in my life.”
Looking
back, the dots do connect. Every decision got me to where I am today—a place I
am happy to be. I love my husband, I like who my kids are, I had an amazing
career, and I have to trust whatever comes next will only add to a life
well-lived. The fact is: there are no wrong decisions. Regardless of which
degree I choose or if I decide to get a job, my experience will have its positives
and negatives, but ultimately it will have been an experience worth having.
Back
in that river two summers ago, I did finally let go of the boat. While the
waves kept crashing over me and I struggled to catch my breath, I held on to my
paddle and felt Ronda holding on to me. There we were, two middle-aged women,
adrift in some pretty gnarly rapids. After what seemed like an eternity, but
was mere seconds, I felt Neils’ strong hand grab the shoulder of my life vest as
he hauled me into the boat. I lay there, spent and heaving, as he pulled Ronda
to safety as well.
Even
when it seems illogical, even when I want to cling to the safety of the known,
it’s true that the better decision is to let go of the boat—to release myself
into the flow of the river of life (preferably with a friend holding on to my
back). Whether the current is slow and smooth, or crashing whitewater, I can
trust that God, my river guide, will not let me drown.
Let go of the boat, Dana. I’ve got this.
Letting
go, He will pull me to safety, where, relieved, I can enjoy the rest of the trip.
