handwrittenandplentyedits

When I look out of my window, just as I am doing now, I have a beautiful view of the river before me. It stretches in elegant lines toward the distant horizon, like an anaconda winding its way through the waters of the Amazon. Perhaps not quite as dangerous, but definitely just as slithering and soothing when watched from afar.

When I say beautiful, I feel a little sting that reminds me — more often lately than not — that I am not quite in the mood to enjoy it. Even though I long for exactly that. This simple, light feeling of: just now, just this, just enough to make me feel a bit more alive. So, beautiful is true; it’s just that I can’t quite feel it right now.

When I lower my head a little more, I think I might come a little closer to what my feelings and thoughts are at this moment. Right beside the river runs a small winding road, until it suddenly stops, just before the river stretches its body into another of its tender lines. It makes me feel so stuck. Unless I decide to swim — or fly — there is no way to make it any farther along this road. And this is exactly how life feels to me. Not much help here, my life’s motto: one step after the other. Not when the road has ended. Not when one more step would take you over the edge. So what now? Do I have to swim in order to feel unstuck?
Or maybe this is an invitation. An invitation to let my thoughts go, to let them find new ways, new paths to follow. No action needed. Just gazing after them in astonishment, noticing the small feelings of being alive again. And maybe even sitting on that bench there, right in front of me.
And come to think of it — I have always wanted to learn how to kayak.