a tale of whitewater rafting

A long time ago, before I was married, I went whitewater rafting with my boyfriend (now husband) and a group of friends. It was the third year in a row we had gone but this time we went into Quebec to paddle on the Rouge River. It was as much a party weekend as it was for rafting and we arrived at the campsite late on the Friday night, had some drinks, crashed and were up early the next morning to hit the river.

The river was running high that year and our first day out on the water had been a little wild. Rafts had dumped. People fell out and had to be pulled back into the boat. But everyone was okay. Lots of laughs at the end of the day, stories being told and re-told getting more dramatic each time and a rowdy campfire to close out the evening.

The next day instead of rafting in the big river boats we were in two-person kayaks. We were super low to the water and the swirling rapids threatened to take the boat away without warning. It was pretty intimidating. We lined up at the top of the series of rapids and got instructions from our guides. They pointed out where we were to aim for as we were paddling down. I was super nervous and wasn’t sure I could do it. My boyfriend was at the back of the kayak and was encouraging and said – “let’s do this!”. We set off and almost immediately on our first set of rapids we dumped.

It happened so fast. One minute I was in the kayak and the next I was underwater. At first it was loud. I could hear the roar of the waves as the water fought its way down-river through the rocks. But then there was silence. I was spinning around. Occasionally I would surface and the noise would return. I would have an instant to suck in a massive, deep breath before being shoved back under.

I don’t know how long this went on for. It felt like forever. Until something bumped me out of the rapids churn and I was pulled into calm waters. It turns out my sister, who was also on the trip and an experienced river guide herself, had been the last boat to go down, saw what had happened and was able to navigate her kayak to where I had been pushed under and bump me out.

I was shaking. I was sobbing. I didn’t know how I was going to pick myself up and get back down the rest of the river. My sister calmly helped me to the shore and we walked around the rest of this particular set of rapids to the lake area on the other side where the rest of the group was worried and waiting.

It was so peaceful when I was underwater. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t panic. Somehow, in that moment I knew that by letting go I was trusting I would be okay. I was putting faith in something larger than myself. I surrendered to the water.

That day on the water wasn’t about overcoming adversity. It wasn’t about surviving a near-death experience. It wasn’t about a rafting company that sent flimsy boats down a river that were not fit for the class four rapids they were to paddle. And it wasn’t about me getting back in the boat and paddling the rest of the way down the river.

It was about letting go. It was about being submerged in the quiet of the water and not panicking. It is a reminder that I can’t control every event and every outcome in my life. I can do the work. I can be prepared. But ultimately, when adversity comes, I can choose to calmly walk through it or can I can fight it and get stuck along the way.

I wouldn’t wish my rafting experience on anyone. But when I remember the calm I felt while submerged and the peace I found in surrendering to the water it is a reminder to let go.

Let go of control. Let go of dictating the outcome in life. Trust that you will be okay.

Let the water carry you. Just let go.

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