Learning to Live Like a River Flows
I would love to live
—John O’Donohue (“Fluent”, from his book, Conamara Blues)
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
I love the imagery of this little poem. For several years now, it has been posted on my desk, where I return to it regularly. The imagery evokes a sense of trust, openness and wonder in life, despite all the unknowns and the variables we can’t control. I admit that there are many days where this approach is more aspirational than descriptive, but, even so, I am grateful that there are moments where I can say yes to that invitation.
This poem calls to mind “The River of Life” exercise, which was developed by Joyce Ann Mercer. It invites reflection on our life by imagining it as a river. The idea is to draw it out, taking into account where it flowed smoothly or turned to rapids, where it took a turn, where there were obstacles, where the river came in a rush or a trickle… Once the river is drawn, you consider people and events that have shaped it and note what has been important to you along the way.
Even though it focuses on looking back, I find that it’s a good exercise for encouraging me to lean into the surprise of my life’s unfolding. When I look back over my “river,” I see experiences that I wouldn’t have chosen. Moves away from friends and communities that had felt like home. Relationships that ended with feelings of hurt and betrayal. Walking alongside others through experiences of heartache and loss. Global and national events that erased illusions of safety and challenged assumptions about neighbors and strangers. I also see how moving meant that I met the woman who has been one of my best friends for close to thirty years. And how our friendship facilitated meeting the man who is now my husband. I see how feelings of helplessness as a teenager struggling to support a friend with depression nurtured an interest in mental health that has empowered me to pursue a vocation that is deeply meaningful to me and to others.
Some choices I made not realizing where they would lead me or how they would challenge me. I think about how narrow my vision was in some earlier stages of life, which led me to respond to others in ways that I cringe to think about now. Then there are all of the choices I made out of a sense of obligation or duty. Even choices that I celebrate–marrying my husband, raising kids, shifting to a new vocation–have brought with them moments of pain and self-doubt and stress. I knew these choices wouldn’t always be easy, but the reality of the hard parts didn’t always align with the ideas I had about them ahead of time! I still wouldn’t change them.
All of it–the good, the bad and the ugly–is part of what has unfolded and formed me into the person I am today. I see not just people who hurt me, but people who loved me, encouraged me, who saw in me possibilities I could not see myself. I see challenges and opportunities that nurtured growth, whether I wanted it or not. I see places where I lost myself and places where I lived into a new version of myself, a version that I hope is a little wiser and a little more compassionate than the person I had been. It’s been a wild, messy and beautiful ride that I couldn’t have foreseen or planned. I will no doubt continue to be surprised by how this river unfolds!
As we move into fall, and all the busyness it brings, I’m considering what and who reconnects me with the trust, openness and wonder that invites me to live like a river flows. Laughing and crying with loved ones. Walking amidst trees. Silence. Prayer. Looking at the stars. Spiritual direction. Poetry. Music. Deep breathes. Little acts of kindness, offered and received. Spiritual community. If you would also love to live like a river flows, I hope you make space for whatever it is that encourages trust, openness and wonder in your life too. May we lean into the ongoing process of our own becoming and discover blessing in the surprise of our life’s unfolding.
