Shallow Water

I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living. - Anais Nin

Early Sunday morning. Just me and the birds on the water, enjoying the long shadows from the east and the sounds of the paddle skimming side to side while fish jumped out of the water. The sky felt so big, the river seemed to go on forever beyond the bridge, and the world below the murky surface was larger than my imagination. Except...when my paddle struck the bottom of the river. Dead low tide. Very shallow water.

I moved closer to the channel markers, those sticks that designate the deepest parts of the water. Still, I was able to touch the bottom. I moved further past the bridge into broader sections of the river, but no matter where I pushed myself, I could not make the broadness of the water go any deeper. I was disappointed. I had wanted to go out today, to get a little lost, to wonder exactly how or when I would return, to create stories in my head about what I could and could not see. I was faced with exactly what was in front of me (and below me) and not the mystery of what I wished it to be.

Why am I so interested in not seeing the whole picture? In valuing what might be below the surface or just beyond my understanding instead of what I can clearly see? Is it optimism, or idealism, or something else? It might be that we look for depth in our world and in each other, so that we can keep discovering new and exciting parts. We fear that we will be disappointed by seeing all of the blemishes in the shallows, right there beside the beauty. Maybe we should instead think about authentically discovering the same familiar things again and again, with fresh eyes, instead of always looking for some deeper meaning. We might question the seer instead of the seen and rediscover the good things each time we see the familiar: kindness, fresh air, a great laugh, a shady cove on a hot day. Rediscover the not so good things: getting tangled in seaweed monsters, an unkind word or gesture, slower currents. The thing or the person itself doesn't change, just how we feel about it.

I am starting to think that depth is overrated. It doesn't change the complex thing, it only changes what what is in our vision at that moment. Early Sunday morning is my sweet spot, for spending time in nature, for writing, for thinking about the people I love. I am completely predictable and transparent and familiar. I am going to keep enjoying those Sunday mornings, no matter what is showing just below the surface. I'm ok being shallow about that. ; )