Sitting in the bow of the canoe, I pick up the old wooden paddle. For the first few strokes, I have to concentrate—plunge, pull, lift, twist—but soon the familiar rhythm takes over and I can just watch the river and feel its buoyant grace.
When I was learning this skill, it seemed impossibly complex. Plunge the paddle into moving water—deep enough for purchase, not too deep to maneuver. Plunge without clanging against aluminum, without splashing myself or my partner.
Then, pull against heavy water—evenly, strongly. Pull against the wind or the current—and pull even when you’re with the wind or with the current. Then, lift and twist the paddle to reduce resistance, thin edge facing forward—and plunge again.
I thought I’d never get the hang of it but gradually I was able to let my body do the paddling and my mind enjoy the scenery. And I wonder if life itself isn’t a little bit like this. Plunge deep and pull hard. Then lift and twist to reduce resistance. Trust the process. Trust yourself. And, while your arms and shoulders do the work, let your heart leap into joy—into buoyant grace.