Step Into the Water

August so far has been soft, misty, sweater-worthy mornings, sunny warm days, corn and beans green and full, as tall as they’re going to get and growing fatter. Life moving in rhythm, waiting for fullness before the harvest.

I drive the roads between green and gold walls to work, to friends and home, soaking in the sun, thankful for August, wondering a little what will come next. Son #1 and I were talking the other day about the initiative, the anti-inertia, the strength it takes to move forward. I am comfortable, in my job, in my house, in my relationships, in my mind. I let the same thoughts roll around my head almost every day, the present, the past, the future, the past. Do I want to keep thinking about the same things for the next 30 years?

But if I let them go - if I let go of what I am missing, what I would have done differently - what will I have to think about? What will I hold on to? I like my pain, my small world, my sorrow; I am used to it, and it gives me meaning. What’s in my mind is my identity, it gives me structure, it shapes how the world works for me. If I let it go…I’m stepping in the water toward the middle of the lake, where there is no footing, the water moving me, I moving myself through it. At some point I have to let my toes lift off the bottom, let my head dip down, let all of me be taken. Then who am I?

I am holding my breath.