float

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of deep water.  This may be a fairly common fear, but my Dad was akin to the old man in the sea on a surf board.  I grew up on the waves.  I grew up in the ocean.  My brothers and my Dad would swim out past the kelp beds, eager and enthusiastic, then regal me with tales of open water. While I stayed in the tip-toe range, catching waves and body surfing to shore.  My fear of deep water only became more pronounced when I was given a snorkel and fins with the assurance, "These will make you swim even faster!".  I would quietly panic encumbered by these swimming accouterments, unable to find balance with the aided help. Generally speaking this sentiment usually resulted in my losing them as soon as possible.

One beautiful, blue sky, summer day, I swam out past the kelp beds with my Dad.  Just the two of us.  This was a rarity in itself because I can probably count the moments of alone-time with him on my ten fingers.  I was trying to appear confident and inside I felt scared, quietly, breathlessly, scared.  He saw me then.  He saw my fear under the veneer of bravery that he'd never looked past.  He lay on his back.  My dad could lay on his back in the relaxed posture of a sunbather reclining on a lawn chair, with virtually no apparent effort besides a gentle flutter of the hands.  He said, "Look kid, when you are on the water and you feel scared, turn over.  The sea will hold you.  Just relax and trust the water".
Relax and trust the water.
I approach life with the same timidity of my early forays into deep water.  Afraid of open sea, of the tide, of the expanse of it all.  Inside I sometimes hear my dad reminding me to lay back and trust the water.  Perhaps it IS as easy as that.  Who knows where the tide will take us but the perpetual struggle to stay afloat is counter productive, terrifying and I simply don't have the fortitude to keep paddling.
So perhaps it is a good time to relax and trust the water.