Learning to Hold On

I’ve been sitting here contemplating different things happening in my life right now and the struggles that have been plaguing me. In a conversation last week, I realized how hopeless I had been feeling and how much I had quietly given up on ever feeling joy again. I can’t say that a lot of those emotions have changed since then—I’m just more aware of them.

As I’ve been sitting here, I found myself remembering an experience while rafting in Moab. It was a beautiful day with a crystal blue sky and majestic red rocks surrounding the river. It was also intermixed with straddling the side of a raft for several hours and feeling saddle sore, like I had been riding a horse all day. I was pretty sure I’d never walk or sit normally again.

The first half of the day was enjoyable, and then we pulled off to the side and had lunch. It was a large group, so many rafts were involved—which also meant that when lunch was done, you weren’t guaranteed the same raft you came in on. As my group of eight piled into our new raft, I felt a squishiness beneath me along with a sense of unease. It was obvious this raft had become a bit deflated.

I was near the back and could see the rapids as we approached them. They weren’t bad rapids, but this squishy raft wasn’t filling me with confidence. As we went over them, no matter how hard I tried to grip the raft with my legs, the lack of air made it impossible to stay on.

Before I knew it, I was in the water.

And then I realized I was under the raft.

One of my biggest fears is drowning, so I immediately went into survival mode. Fortunately, I was able to push myself just enough to get out from underneath the raft. The only clear thought that came to me was the instruction the guide had given us earlier that day: if you get thrown into the water, grab the rope along the side of the raft and hold on.

So, I grabbed the rope and held on tightly as we rode through the rapids.

I could hear the guide saying something to me, but I was in survival mode, so it was hard to make out what he was saying. Finally, I realized he was telling me to let go of the oar. Apparently, I had one hand gripping the rope and the other holding onto the oar. Somehow, in all that chaos, I had managed to cling to both.

So, I let it go.

And before I knew it, I was back in the raft.

The guide—a petite little guy, in his own rush of adrenaline—pulled me in with such force that it took me a moment to even register what had happened. Aside from a scrape on my face from hitting the underside of the raft, I was okay. The river eventually became calm, and we continued our journey.

I share that story because it reminds me that sometimes life is turbulent, and no matter how hard we try to hold on, we’re going to get thrown into the water. Sometimes it’s because of our own choices, and sometimes it’s because of the choices of others—like ending up in a raft that didn’t have enough air.

And sometimes… it just happens.

I often get too focused on trying to figure out how I ended up in the water in the first place, how to prevent those unexpected challenges of life. I spend time trying to figure out what went wrong or what is wrong with me that led to a specific challenge. Sometimes it can be helpful, but more often it just prolongs my suffering.

Because if I had been under that raft, using my energy to analyze how I fell off—or getting angry at whoever didn’t properly inflate the raft—I probably wouldn’t have made it out.

Sometimes life just throws us into the rapids.

And in those moments, the only thing we can do is grab the rope and hold on.

I feel for the past several weeks I’ve been stuck under life’s raft trying not to drown. This past week I feel like I’ve made my way out from underneath and am now gripping the rope, trying to ride out the challenges I face and trust the current. But I can also see that I’m still holding onto the oar—clinging to emotions or behaviors that have kept me stuck.

Maybe, if I could let them go, I could be pulled back into the raft and find some rest from life’s rapids.

Do you ever feel like you’re caught under the raft, or holding onto things so tightly that no one can quite pull you back up? If so, you’re certainly not alone. I’m honestly not sure how to let go of my oars right now—the emotions and behaviors that have sustained me for so long and helped me survive.

But I also haven’t given up.

I’m still holding onto the rope. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.