It came like a river and washed me over.
I would like to say I waded in, but nothing could be further from the truth. One moment I was on dry ground, and the next I was in over my head, tumbling and turning and hoping my head wouldn’t get bashed upon the rocks, although for that matter I don’t even know if there were any rocks.
Funny how the speed of the suddenlies can convince you you’re surely about to die, and it’s probably going to be violent and gory. Surely it will be tomorrow’s headlines, and what if someone posts an unflattering photo of you dying with your mouth open, looking silly?
Or worse yet, what if nobody even notices you’re gone?
But I didn’t bash my head on any rocks. Instead, I discovered that beyond the panic there was a rhythm to the flow, furious and relentless as it was, and I didn’t have to be a victim of its raging torrents.
Better yet to face forward and learn to defy gravity.
Some may call it swimming, some may call it flying. Some will surely stand at a safe distance and call it chaos, although it is actually anything but except to those with an unhealthy attachment to dry land.