Pebbles

In late Spring, my husband and I took a long-awaited vacation to a bucket-list destination: Magical Zion National Park in Utah, which did not disappoint. 

The simple joy of being in nature, of having to worry only about finding trailheads and (later) breweries, of falling asleep physically spent every night, will long stay with me. So will a particular stream crossing.

First, a confession: I’m stressed. I’m retired now so I’m not supposed to be this stressed. But here I am, worried about my kids, my granddaughter, my extended family, the state of democracy, climate change and, to be honest and vain, my hair thinning.

There are many more days than in the past when I am just not sure how to get up and power forward, where inertia keeps me on my couch. I’m an extrovert by nature, so this is unfamiliar territory for me, likely due to a combination of advancing age and the genuinely fraught state of the world. 

So back to that stream crossing.

I remember how beautiful the day was -- a bit cool and unusually quiet -- as we had arrived a few weeks before high season. At a certain juncture, we needed to cross a somewhat energetic stream. Patrick and I both hesitated, trying to figure out which rock or stone or boulder would be the least slippery, least likely to trick us and tilt as soon as we landed on it.

After much procrastinating, I took the leap. Then I leaped again, with barely a second to decide where to go next. Then next. I just kept jumping  -- right, left, forward, a few steps sideways, forward again -- slipping a bit but staying upright. One, two, three, four. And then I was across.

It was only later that I realized the teaching moment Mother Nature had lovingly provided to me. When facing uncertainty, don’t overthink it. Just jump.

And keep moving forward until you feel firmer ground below your feet.