Leaning Into the Rapids
River rafting
There’s a photo I love from a river rafting trip with a friend.
It was taken right at the most intense part of a rapid; one of those spots where a photographer waits to capture the chaos.
In the photo, I’m sitting at the front of the boat.
Leaning forward.
Oar reaching out.
Face lit up, laughing.
My whole body says, “Let’s go!”
Right behind me is my friend.
Leaning back.
Oar pulled tight into his chest.
Face scrunched with fear.
His whole body says, “Wait! Nooooo!.”
I love this photo, not just because of the memory, but because of what it represents.
Two people.
Same moment.
Same rapid.
Completely different experiences.
Perspective and perceptions
We can move through the same situations as someone else
and experience them in entirely different ways.
We can lean in, curious, open, even excited.
Or we can brace, fearful, guarded, pulling back from what feels unknown.
Neither response is wrong.
They’re shaped by experience.
Maybe my friend had an experience that made him cautious.
Maybe I had enough time on the river to feel trust instead of fear.
We all carry stories that influence how we meet the moment in front of us.
I’ve had my moments, too.
Times when I wasn’t the one leaning forward.
My divorce.
My diagnosis.
Moments where I braced.
Pulled back.
Tried to resist what was coming as I plummeted toward a situation out of my control.
I’ve been both people in that boat.
What I’ve learned is this:
Life doesn’t always bend to our desires.
The rapids come anyway.
How do we meet the rapids?
We often think peace or happiness will come
when circumstances shift, when things calm down,
or, “When this happens, then I’ll be okay.”
But most of us have lived on this planet long enough to know that’s not how it works.
So what can shift?
Our attention.
What we focus on shapes what we experience.
If we’re only looking for what’s wrong,
we’ll find it.
If we begin to notice what’s good,
even in small ways, something starts to change.
Not in a forced, fake “just stay positive” way.
Not by ignoring the hard.
Because life will still bring storms.
Grief.
Uncertainty.
Frustration.
Those things are real, and they deserve to be felt.
But even in the middle of the rapid, between the shocks of cold water, the plunging and rising, there are moments woven in:
A shared laugh.
A breath between waves.
A flicker of excitement.
A lesson taking shape.
What we notice
When we notice those moments, gratitude begins to sharpen our vision.
Last month I was in the rapids.
But there were moments I noticed: kindness from strangers, gentleness from loved ones, the patience and strength from my mom, my own capacity for resilience, and my family’s ability to find humor in the most uncomfortable situations.
This doesn’t erase the difficulty; it simply allows us to see more than just the difficulty.
It’s like widening the lens.
We begin to hold both:
the struggle
and the beauty
the discomfort
and the growth
the heaviness
and the light
And in that space, life starts to feel fuller.
Not because the rapids disappear, but because we’re no longer only seeing one part of them.
So if things feel heavy right now…
You don’t have to force yourself to feel positive.
Just gently ask:
What else is here?
Because even in the rapids, there is always something more to notice.
And maybe,
just maybe,
we can lean in a little.
