I was raised by the ocean and almost always knew the tide–its timing, severity, and change. Now, I find myself up in the mountains, far from the sea, with no ocean to set my clocks. I am left to set them myself.
I fancy myself as a go-with-the-flow kind of gal, but in all honestly, I’m not. I fight the current all day long, believing sheer will and determination can change the course of the tide.
Sometimes, every now and again, it does–just often enough to keep me guessing. But more often, it is me who needs to yield. To trust. To glide. To float. To flow.
I hate that.
It is me who needs to quit steering the boat and focus on ballast, speed and my crew. My boys. Those sweet, salty pirates who call me Mama. Every aspect of my life challenges my notion of effort, control and when to succumb to the moment.
I can do better. I know this. I can feel the winds blow. I can find the current that is easy, smooth, and mine.
I can flow.
Perhaps my fancy is true.
This Letter was originally published in Mamalode print issue themed FLOW.