Do the Scary Things

Really, If Not Now, When?

Here’s something that happened this past February on the Columbia River near Portland. Our canoe club went out at six pm, as we always do, Monday and Wednesday nights, this time in three outrigger canoes, two OC6 and one OC12 (the numbers tell how many people are in them). It was cold, probably in the low 30s, and the water temp (I would learn later) was 41 degrees.

As always, I wore my personal flotation device (PFD) and the canoe was fitted with a skirt, that thing that zips paddlers into their canoes. Our skirts are a bit elderly, and as we set off, I remember thinking, damn this thing is a bit cranky. Zip, unzip, zip, unzip.

The night was calm, the water smooth. And then suddenly, there was a scraping sound from the underside of the canoe, and I realized that we were going over, the world turning, almost in slow motion, though, of course, that wasn’t true. It was an instant, but in that short amount of time, I thought about a few things

.

The first was that I wasn’t surprised I was going upside down again. Earlier in the day, I’d been at a huli (what it’s called when your canoe goes over) practice in OC1s, flipping the canoe over and getting back in. Somehow during my time clambering up and into the canoes, I’d done some damage to myself, my ribs always a weak spot on my body.

Damn, I thought now as the bigger canoe began its gyre into the water. Here we go again. How will I get back into this thing without doing more harm?

The second thought was about the skirt. I told myself to hold my breath tight and carefully unzip the wobbly zipper. That was all I had to do to survive. Hanging underwater for a long instant, I looked into the gloomy river tinged green by the canoe safety light.

I found the zipper and then without knowing how, I popped up above water, barely able to breathe, the water was that cold. But thank you PFD.

The story ends well. A very wise and practiced paddler wrangled us, another boat came alongside, and we were all brought into the stable OC12. While our steersperson had jumped from the boat—don’t ever do that—and started to drift down the river, another boat grabbed her up. The rest of us were chilled (it took me hours to warm up) but no one suffered from hypothermia. In fact, the incident brought to light some of our club’s safety inconsistencies, and we’ve had safer paddles ever since.

However, from that point on, I was afraid. Not in a huge, debilitating way. But I understood that what I’d been doing for the past year plus was actually dangerous. Death was possible. I came to canoeing from dragon boat racing, and we’ve never hulied. In fact, the story was oft told of the one time, many years ago, that a boat had gone over in Vancouver Lake. The one time. Not so in canoes, I realized. Going over was part of the plan.

From then on, I came to practice more prepared. More ready for disaster. I understood the risks and feared them, but I showed up—I show up—anyway. When in my OC1, I realize that I can—and have—gone over during during a paddle. Jet skies, barges, winds, currents, other paddlers? All dangers. I worry about them. I strategize. But I go out anyway, ribs be damned.

For me, aging has involved making choices about accepting fear. Divorcing my husband and deciding I can live alone? Good lord, so many fears, mostly about navigating the rest of my life alone (no PFD for that). Let me not forget about the furnaces, sump pump, plumbing, and roof. What about that hundred year old Norway maple that might kill the next pedestrian? Mine to deal with. Mine to pay for. Watch me make those calls.

Expressing my feelings to family, children, and friends? Oh, hell. The election(s) taught me a bit about that. We have to state our feelings in order to move past hard topics. We can’t sweep all the hurt and sorrow and indignation under the rug. Of course, there are good ways to offer up opinions, but things need to be said.

Asking people for what I want? Ghastly. God, can’t I just stay inside and do a puzzle while restreaming all of the Bridgerton shows? What about every season of the old and new Game of Thrones? Um, no. I will—maybe—ask the nice new acquaintance to coffee. I will go with a friend to the dance class. Right. I really will.

Write the hard letter, invite another nice man to go on a paddle, run a 5k. Go to the Tango class and hold a stranger a bit too closely (so weird, but not totally un-nice). Apply for that volunteer board position despite the guaranteed possibility of rejection. And speaking of rejection, send out every poem, story, and novel to those who will probably not want them. Send out the newsletter from which a few people will unsubscribe (I see you searching for that button).

Because we know that with anything comes its opposite: rejection and acceptance are two parts of a whole. I just need to wait my turn, but no turn comes if I never try anything.

It’s all scary and hard, but if not now, when?

If it is scary, and I want and need to do it anyway, I have to try. Just watch me.