I went white water rafting last weekend and learned so much about life.
Every moment on the river was a metaphor. Every shift in current, a lesson.
Where you sit in the raft impacts your experience.
What side you're on determines how you maneuver.
What you wear—did you forget sunscreen? Did you drink enough water?
All the things you did to prepare become irrelevant the second you push off shore.
The water pulls you—a slow, powerful force—and you're at its mercy, ready or not.
I’ve always been fascinated by erosion, by the way water carves, rearranges, and replaces entire landscapes over time. But that’s a story for another day. Today is just this: a few hours on the river.
We may stare up at the canyon walls in awe, but when it’s time to row, you have to put your back into it and pull. The first few minutes are blissful—they never put you in danger right away. But it doesn’t stay that way.
Soon, the guide is yelling commands.
You're maneuvering.
High-centering on rocks.
Bouncing through rapids.
Getting soaked.
Soaked enough that when they ask if you want to swim, you cry “Might as well!” and hop overboard.
(At least, I hope you do.)
The water pools so beautifully. And if you’re brave, you let go of the raft.
You let the current take you.
Feel it carry you.
Feel it speak to you in the only language it knows.
If you’ve never communed with river water, I suggest you begin—soon and often.
Be careful: the current is strong, and there are rocks.
But if you’re smart, you can flirt with the flow.
With the coolness, the clarity, the bone-deep exhaustion that follows the struggle.
Things will go wrong.
You’ll get hung up.
Water will shoot up your nose.
Your hat might fly off.
You may clack paddles with the guy behind you before you find your rhythm.
But eventually, it’s time to pull to shore and take a break.
You gulp Gatorade like you’ve never tasted hydration before.
And if you’re lucky?
They’ve brought the good snacks—candy with nuts, maybe even fruit.
You laugh, stretch out on warm rocks, talk to your crew.
Let the sun kiss more than just your scalp.
Search the shoreline for skipping stones.
And then you climb back in.
Now you're seasoned.
You and your team move in sync.
It’s beautiful.
You traverse the rest of the river like you've been doing it your whole life.
(At least, I hope you do.)
I hope you were paying attention.
I hope you stayed present.
I hope everything you said to those in your boat was said gently, with love.
If you joked or got sassy, I hope they took it in the spirit you meant it.
I hope they cared for you,
and let you care for them.
I hope the molecules that surround you every day rearrange themselves to lift you—
just like the river did when you leapt from that high rock.
I hope you feel bubbles dancing on your skin.
I hope your nose feels just a little tight from the sun,
and gently reminds you of the joy you held that day.
I hope your team holds you up.
I hope your guides are helpful.
And your friends—lovingly irreverent.
I hope you stared at the canyon walls in awe,
humble in their presence—
older than time, born of fire and carved by water that once raged so high,
there was no escaping it.
And even though I love you—
I hope it made you feel small.
I hope something in you turned on its axis.
That you lost yourself in the wonder of it all.
If the river moved something in you—if you're still carrying the awe, the surrender, the sting of sun and current—consider carrying a talisman that holds it with you.
Each Bloomspun piece is made with intention, blessed beneath healing hands or woven with magickal fire. A reminder to flow, to trust, to row hard when it’s time—and let go when the water calls you to drift.
And beloved... may the current always carry you where you're meant to go.
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