I was about a year and a half, maybe two years old. We had just moved into the home that I “grew up in” (from this age until age 11 or 12). Our two bedroom house had a large front yard with a big oak tree. Most importantly, it was located directly across from the river. The day we moved in, my mom took us kids down to see the water. Calmly walking along with my mom and brother, we hit the apex of the path, where all of us first lay eyes on what would become a sacred swimming hole to our entire family.

I bolt.

Running with my tiny nubs of legs, I jet straight into the water. My hobbit feet splash with ecstasy, and a giggle echos from my buck toothed mouth, bounding off the rock walls on the other side of the river.  My ankles, then chubby calves sink in, bringing a feeling of relief – like a fish, I can finally breathe because my skin is slicked with water. Just as I am about to get my little pink corduroy shorts submerged, something pulls me backwards at my waist. Ahck! A frown appears, puffy bottom lip curled out, squishy cheeks accentuated. I turned my head, wispy brown hairs framing the sadness emitting from my face, along with the white frilly tank top making me look so innocent. Oh, it’s Mommy.

“You do not know how to swim you silly little girl!” she wails with a chuckle.

Not comprehending the meaning of her words, I stand there, with her fingers curled into the back of my elastic waisted shorts, staring at the greenish brown natural pool, that to me, looks like pure heaven. Confused, and aching for a greater taste of the substance that is within arms reach, I realize a fact that will stay with me my entire life.

I belong in there. This is my environment. I need to be in this stuff as much as possible!

Wait…Why am I still not in this water?

The next day, my mother brings me back to the perfect sandy beach of my dreams. I wait, patiently, not wanting to get in trouble, while she sets up a camping chair right on the shore, legs of the chair nearly in the water.

“Okay, you can go in the water. BUT, you have to stay right here along the shore, where you can still stand waist deep. No further!” she stated sternly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say with the best pronunciation a two year old can manage, in order for her to know how very serious I am about this proposition and my intention to follow through. I will do anything to get my body in that water.  My loving and supportive mother then helps me strip down into my birthday suit, and sits down, glowing with the most proud smile you could ever see on a parent.

The preceding variable weeks and months consist of countless more days like this, where my mother pulls up her chair, busts open a Danielle Steele novel, and keeps a close eye on me while I flail and splash, giggling with the most pure smile you could ever see on a child.  Little by little she will inform me that I can go out just a little deeper into the river, and other days she challenges me to “swim” just a little further away along the shore. “Can you make it all the way to that tree?” she asks without a doubt in her mind, that I can, and I will.

This is how I learned to swim. No lessons, no swimming pool (although we did have one in the village, I preferred the mucky river).  My chubster arms did dawn “floaties” if only to keep up with my ambition.

Water. It still calls to me every single day. Whether oceans, lakes or rivers, I must have it around me. Even snow feeds my yearning, bringing forth a different form of water for me to enjoy, by surrounding myself in it, and becoming an expert in the sports created to perform on the pure white substance.  I grew up swimming in that river, floating in rafts, jumping off trees, and catching crawdads.  Throughout my life I have jumped off countless bridges and cliffs, into gorgeous rivers. I have surfed the oceans of not only California, but also Australia and New Zealand. I have skinny dipped in countless alpine lakes, including one of the largest – Lake Tahoe. I have kayaked parts of three different coasts of the South Island of New Zealand, as well as been a skipper for a six day sailboat trip and a first mate for a fishing trip off Milford Sound. Most recently, I have been adding more and more states I have kayaked to my list, now up to a total of eight (will be 10 soon).

Three months ago (wow it has already been that long) I purchased my first kayak. Used, it came as a packaged deal, which was perfect because I was on a time crunch, and had limited energy due to recovering from a concussion, and packing up all my belongings. Actively looking for a kayak for a full year, it was time to pull the trigger.  Perusing craigslist, I found two options that were the style and length I was seeking, and one of the two sellers responded.  Hesitating and overanalyzing due to the headaches that would be brought on if I were to drive the hour and a half to Reno, my amazing partner announced, “I’ll drive. Email him. Call him. Tell him you have the cash and you can come today.” That is exactly what I did.

Since owning the kayak for three months, and having launched it at around 15 bodies of water throughout seven different states (and even a different country), I have come to find that my kayak is fucking badass.  My boat spurs more conversations with strangers than anything else. The phrase, “that is a beautiful boat,” is stated, with a soft voice and a nod, in my direction.  The amazement on passersbyers’ faces when I carry my boat, or hoist it on top of the camper shell of my 4wd lifted truck, is palpable. Every so often, I do receive the lovely offer of, “do you want some help with that?”

To which I always reply, “Naw…it is part of the adventure. It is actually pretty light.”

Here are the specs – for you paddle nerds:

Model & Make: Sonoma Perception

Length: 13’ 7”

Weight: 41 lbs

Material: Airilight

Color: Blue & White

Storage: rear

The specs are meaningless to me, outside of what it allows me to do.  I can carry this kayak by myself, and therefore I can travel by myself and launch whenever and pretty much wherever I want.  It is long and thin, hugging my hips, and therefore I feel one with the water, paddling fast and smooth, traveling long distances.

The moment I get my right leg fully into the boat, scooch my butt up properly on my seat, with my lower back straight up like a soldier, place both hands on the light blue grips of my paddle, and push away from the shore, I experience a rush of peace surging through my entire body. My body is only touching my boat and its gear. My boat is only touching the water. Suspended. Floating. I am free.

Each time, attempting to paddle softly and slowly, remaining calm, tranquil and relaxed, my arms nevertheless begin to pump, faster and stronger. Each fist pump moves through the air in a cartoonish mimic of a fist fight with the sky. Right. Left. Right. Left. On and on they continue in an endless circle on each side of my body, and the extension of my body – the boat. Each push forward, and opposite arm’s pull back, also brings tension to my abdomen. Stretching and flexing, I can feel my stomach getting leaner with every minute that goes by.  Surprisingly, my mouth remains close. My jaw is relaxed, with my tongue maintaining space within, as breaths flow in and out of my nostrils.  Both nostrils fill with cool alpine air. On rhythm with my arms and abdomen, all working parts synchronize to create a meditative state of movement.

Focused, physically challenging myself, and also sinking into a strange state of calm, I am reminded of a former activity of mine – long distance running. Yeah, now you know what I am talking about, huh? A beautiful combination of the healing powers of the water, along with the physical challenge, and the repetitive rhythm required, I quickly launch my entire being into a flow state.  That perfect combination of challenge and using the skills one has, I reach zen, enjoying my new form of meditation.  There is no one by my side to chat with. No music is sang, or blared from a speaker. My thoughts do wander to certain realms, but mostly, I am present, enjoying the scenery of the mountains and trees, scanning the shoreline for wildlife, feeling the power of my muscles, and experience the water as it glides beneath my bottom, and is pushed back with each stroke of the paddle.

Post-kayak, yes I do feel some physical exhaustion, mostly in my shoulders and neck area. Moreso, I feel invigorated with energy for life. My creative juices seem to flow stronger and brighter. My heart feels more at peace with my relationships and my place in life at the moment.  Feeling closer to both nature, to those I love, and the community around me, I feel one with the world, no matter where I am.  Eager to lay down horizontally on my temperpedic pillow, write, play music, make friends, share and laugh, cravings for the next paddle creep up quickly, if not instantaneously.

Purchasing that kayak was the best decision I made after my concussion. Deciding to make some surprising changes in my life, as my headaches finally started to dissipate, I knew I needed to continue my healing, while out in nature. Although an avid hiker, and all around seeker of adrenaline pumping adventure, my recent injury made me confident that I needed a daily activity that would not only help me get back in shape (after two months of sitting on the couch), but also a workout that would be mentally and emotionally healing.  That beautiful blue and white kayak does it all for me.  Eternally grateful to the man in Reno who chose to sell it when he did, I could not imagine what my healing would be like without that challenging and peaceful boat.

Thank you.

***Since the beginning of this story was based on an age that I actually do not remember any details myself, everything was created from the version of the story that my mother told me. In addition, I made up a whole lot of pieces to fill in the gaps.