"If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo." -Bruce Lee

I often theme the metaphors of my life as they relate to water. Maybe it is because it defines the majority of our physical constitution. Maybe it is because its nature is to move - to evaporate, to fall, to run, and to navigate its way around obstacles in a way I admire. Whatever the reason, I love to be near it and in the depths of it. Its presence in my life is one I recognize of great fortune: to have grown up by the sea and hence to forever be thinking of myself in relation to its proximity, which is, in so many ways, the way I've experienced falling in and or out of love with someone. Where am I in relationship to you?

Sometimes my current transition from shore to bouey to open water seems subtle and quiet. Others it rings loud and strong like a fog horn in reverse intent - to sends me out with gusto from the familiar and known.

This unmooring is such a gift, even when I scream against it.

As much as I can see myself struggling to keep an eye towards the comfort of my life, I consciously am rowing the boat away, once again throwing myself into the waves. I have since I was very small and my mother taught me how to swim in the ocean: When you are lucky enough to see the uprising, dive through it; when you find yourself in surprise, being hurled by the "washing machine," stay as calm as you can and know that you will eventually come up for air. 

Over and over again I untether and float. What else am I to do?