It's nearly October. While the sun washed over my face and shoulders with the warmth of its summer kiss, I knew the water had cooled. The cautious thought of dipping my toes and easing in slowly crossed my mind... briefly. When my feet reached the water's edge, I plunged into the glistening, glassy blue reflection. That's just me.
A few passes of the pool and I found myself stopping short. Since when?
This is the girl who started her sales career cold-calling the next mayor, the one who packed up everything I owned and moved half a country away site unseen, the one who bought a stick shift and practiced driving it on the dealer's lot until I stopped killing the engine, the one who insisted on riding the spirited, unbroken horse sans the saddle across open prairie, the one who believes the smaller the plane the better the view. This is the girl whose daddy says, "I know my daughter, and if you've made up your mind to do it... you're going to do it." I don't look for the easy road. I don't partially invest. I don't quit. Now is no time to start... not when life is full of possibilities and promise!
Gliding to the side of the pool, I began again. I reached the other side and doubled back... over and over and over again. My legs grew weak. Adrenaline burned. My chest pumped hard to draw in enough breath. On that last lap, I looked for the end and it seemed like a mile. So then I did what so many say not to do... I looked back... and it was good. I saw how far I'd come. I evaluated where I was in that moment. Perspective. I knew my goal, my progress and my current status. I need that in life.
When my fingertips reached the wall I pulled myself up out of the water. Gravity pulled on my body like a lead blanket. My legs were limp beneath me. My throat was dry as I drew warm, still air deeply into my lungs.
Sometimes I find when I have totally exhausted my body, the motionless moments which follow open to reflection, like the looking glass of the water I'd just left.
A dear friend of mine shared with me recently their need to journey a day at a time. I know beautiful people who focus best that way. I'm a visionary... like an eagle gliding over the landscape. I don't want to miss out on the present, but I also need to keep my sights on the horizon... even if I never get there. Perhaps this is why I am so drawn to sunrise and sunset each day. I need to glance back to where I first took flight. I need to evaluate where I am... and soar... boundless... for heights and destinations I can't even fathom. This isn't to say the course won't change, the winds won't shift, that I won't need rest and renewal... each will come. It means I need to gaze upon the horizon and fly toward it until I have nothing left... and take wing again at daybreak.
Whether you are testing the waters today or plunging head first, may your journey be captivating.
From my heart,
Susan
