Seven days, seven strange men, myself, a river and Akira Kurosawa was nowhere in sight. No really, that was my river rafting experience this last week. I somehow last minute got entangled into a river running trip down the Green River to Lake Powell (I thought it was a trip down the Grand Canyon). After heading down to Green River and crashing the first night with two strange men in a hotel room (because I’d never pitched a tent and doing that in the rain for the first time was less appealing than you can imagine) I called my husband. The last thing I yelled into my cell phone to my husband before we hit the water was, “What the HELL am I doing?”
Then it was six full beautiful days of silence. Cell phones don’t generally get reception where we were going.
Although I seriously could write a novel just about the hilarious, humiliating, enlightening, and outrageous experiences I had, I would never want to breach any confidentiality or trust, but there is one story about my period, fighting a bout of diarrhea, a seven foot drop, men putting their hands on my a$%, and being hoisted like a beached whale that definitely deserves to be told one day especially since one of the men thought it “funny” to film the entire event. And while I also have an “F” adjective to describe the event, it isn’t “funny.”
But getting away from everything and everyone I hold near and dear to me, living, eating, hiking, and rafting and laughing (very hard) with strange men taught me some life lessons that I could not have gained anywhere else. The most important being is that the river, like life, one cannot control the current or flow, but your skill at handling the waters, determines your journey.