The boat quickly tipped over and filled with water. A drag-chain wrapped around my leg. The current shot me past the overturned boat. My ankle, very much attached to the chain, nearly snapped off. Cold water surged over my face. I, thanks to a strong core, managed to sit up in the current and take a breath. And then, like Houdini, I freed myself and survived. That was three years ago. I have had a complicated relationship with water since.
Yesterday I sat out in the middle of Mobile Bay on a kayak. Yes, I had a life preserver on. But fear still caused my stomach to bob up and down like the swells ahead of me. I shoved off, paddled and headed out to sea. My fears got smaller like the shoreline behind me.
As I was paddling around the bay, I soaked in the beauty of the day. I saw pelicans, gulls, fish, boats and towering cumulous clouds. I heard water slapping against the hull. I got a great workout and all five senses were tickled by the bay.
I challenged fear and it cried “Uncle.” I was living.
It was a powerful metaphor for life (what isn’t?). It’s how I need to live everyday. The shore was safe. It was my comfort zone. But that’s not where adventure was. I had to slip the surly bonds of fear.
An hour later, I guided my kayak back to shore. I had punched fear in the gut. And I was better off for it.