The Board and the Water

I pushed myself out the door this morning when I wanted to just sit on the couch and stay numb. This 5-year anniversary of his death weighs on me almost as much as the first one. I think it’s because I allowed myself to be a mess that first year. In the back of my mind, I had hoped that by five years out, I’d be back on track. Whatever that meant. While I’ve worked hard to land where I am now, I’ve learned that my grief is always there. I’m worried that I haven’t learned to get beyond just surviving to really living again. I know this life isn’t what he’d want for me, but I don’t know how to fix it.

However, he would have been happy that I did some things for myself. My car is the perfect height for me to load my board on my own. The SUP carrier makes it a breeze to tie down and unload. My board is solid and fast on the water with a paddle as light as a feather. It’s everything he would have gotten me, without a doubt.

The water was rough when I launched on the lake. I had taken too much time moping and missed the early morning calm before the wind picked up. It was the first time on the water this year with my touring board. I had forgotten how amazing it felt to effortlessly cut through the water. Wet to my knees, I adjusted to the wind and the waves as I drove my paddle through the choppy water with long strokes. A board is much more stable when it’s moving. The faster the better. 

Not sure if that equates to life, but it’s how I tend to operate. Slowing down brings the fear of falling and slipping into the cold water. It’s not like I’ve never been there before. I know how to take care of myself. But it’s so hard. Am I afraid of that? The effort? Or the failure?