Baloney Floater

There is floating, and then there is thinking you're floating.

When I say floating, I'm not talking about in water necessarily.  I mean moving from moment to moment, allowing life and change to happen.  Trying to enjoy it as opposed to resist every new thing thrown at you.

Alan Watts said, "When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do, you will sink and drown.  Instead you relax and float.  The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance."

I know, it sounds terrifying, doesn't it?  Not to everyone, but some of us think it sounds wretched.

I'm what I call a Baloney Floater.

Have you ever watched a child in a swim lesson learn to float on their back?  You know how the swim instructor has a hand under her back and says, "Relax, I've got you.  You're doing it."  But instead of lying flat on her back, the child is shaped like a round piece of fried baloney, curled down in the middle with every edge reaching up.  Her head is almost out of the water, neck craning to see her feet, fanny sinking, toes straining to hit the air to give herself the illusion of floating.  She has zero trust that lifeguard isn't going to move his hand, but maybe if enough body parts are above water, she can fool him and herself.

Like that child, I think I'm floating.  But then any little new plan, question, issue, event or change pops up and I feel everything in me clench and freak out.  That's how I find out I was fibbing to myself.  Really, I was floating with one eye on the next buoy, so when it's within reach, scramble onto it to wrap myself around it viciously until the next curve ball is thrown at me.

That kid isn't wrong to be nervous.  That lifeguard is probably a 15-year-old lifeguard who may move his hand at some point and say cheerfully, "See?!  I told you that you could float!"  And that child may not go back to the pool for a week.

But now we are grownups.  We don't have to trust Josh the lifeguard.

It's okay to try to float.
What do we have to lose?  This buoy clinging is exhausting anyway, right?
Uncurl those tight fingers, Honey.

don't worry the thread

 










 

"worry"

definition #2:  to touch or disturb something repeatedly

people are not threads to worry and pull and twirl around your finger.

when i was young and i'd snag a favorite sweater,

my mother would find her seam ripper,

using the very tip of that tiny harpoon, she'd restore not ruin.

she'd wrap the loose thread around that metal prong twice, 

neatly tuck it back into the weaving,
hidden.
wholly.

but people are not sweaters.

they're not the threads of your well-being.

they are not your source of peace.

try not to pull on, pick at, or shake them

trying to make them 

give you what you want;

the exact answer that you want;

the response you think you need

at the time that you want;

which, by the way, is always five minutes ago.

do not re-worry the thread.
let it be.
tuck it back in, or snip it away,

not everyone is forever.
and if you're not sure which,
sit on your hands til you know.

in the meantime, don't pull and tug simply because 

you've never learned a better way.

you can learn new ways.

there are books (god, so many books),

counselors cropping up on instagram nightly

each one desperately obsessed with your well-being.

there are people who've lived longer than you

and know things...

do you really believe you are the first without the tools? 

listen, little snowflake, this is why there are professionals.

they're here for the threads; they're here for the worriers.
you didn't know any better when you were younger, 

it's forgivable,

and you don't have to be perfect now.
but at least now we know and we can practice better ways.

better for them, and better for us.

love,

a fellow snowflake 💙

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