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Lately, I’ve been feeling kind of stuck. You know how it is. Doing the same things, everyday, until the routine begins to take the joy out of living. Sometimes, I need new things to be; and then again, sometimes I need to go back out into the woods where I can feel at peace again. So Grandfather came by and suggested we go back down to the river, where we could fool around, have some fun, talk about life.

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We drove down Highway 64, crossed Jordon Lake, and then turned off by Pittsboro. The Haw River crosses 64 a few miles outside Pittsboro. We both like the river there. The river bed is filled with huge rocks perfect for just sitting, or fishing, or spotting birds. I see Great Blue Herons there all the time, an occasional eagle. But yesterday, the place is rocking with kids. The State declared the area as a North Carolina State Park recently, and now the river banks and waters are likely to be full of kids, fishermen, kayakers and canoers. With all the racket, it takes much of the pleasure out of the park experience.

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Wildlife gets frightened away. You know how it is?

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I was getting hot and sweaty—it was 95 degrees and sunny—and began to think about heading back to our (air-conditioned) car. Grandfather wasn’t quite ready yet, and pointed upstream with his chin.

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“Let’s go up that way a bit,” he suggested.

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I thought about the sweat rolling down my sides under my shirt, and said, “Okay.”

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So we walked back through the woods and crossed over under the highway bridge. It wasn’t long before we noticed that there were no people up river. We began to hear bird calls, squirrels scrabbling up the pines, a Great Blue Heron startling up out of the water and winging further upstream. The spaces under the trees began to cool our heated skins, and I began to relax at last.

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Further upstream, we encountered scattered stones pushing their way above the river surface, and I began feeling childlike, wondering how might it feel to venture out onto the river’s surface, high wiring across from stone to stone. When I was a kid, I wouldn’t think twice about it. But I’m 62 now, and a slip on the mossy stones could shatter an elbow or break a hip.

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But those stones looked inviting, and I began to feel like trying it. It felt “dangerous!” Exciting. If I fell, what would most likely happen is that I would simply get wet! Grandfather said nothing; he just watched me looking at those stones like a kid and smiled to himself.

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The first stones were easy—low to the water, well grounded in the stream—but of course, as I got out into the river, the rocks required step ups and downs, and some of the rocks looked treacherous. I had to begin making choices. There were easy looking paths that went waaaaaaaaay around, and there were direct paths which looked more unsuitable. I had to think about what criteria was right for choosing a path. Finally, I decided that common sense made a good criteria: take the long path if it was the easier. I wasn’t in any hurry to get across the river, so take the easy way I decided. I figured that said a lot about the kind of decision-maker I was, but at the same time saw that there wasn’t a “right” nor a “wrong” answer. It was just who I was.

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Then, there were the looong steps to the next rock, and the small rocks where footing looked tenuous, and the rocks with no footing in the stream--which would turn under my foot if I didn’t step upon them at exactly the right angle. So I’m calculating as I go, balancing like a high wire artist; then in the water I go. Thankfully, the water doesn’t go over the top of my loafer, so I’m really thanking the gods, or somebody out there, for helping me stay upright.

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I’m beginning to see that my little river adventure is really a lot like life: I’m learning about life by trying to walk across the river!

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There are times when you just have to take a longer step than you feel comfortable with, and with some of those, you’re going to end up in the river. But if you are enjoying the adventure, it doesn’t hurt nearly so much. So I’m reviewing in my mind what is it that makes the difference: if you take your time and see it as fun, the mistakes aren’t nearly so painful or so often because you’ve thought them out ahead of time and took your steps with a smile and a dare. You can’t guess right every time, of course! And you don’t have to be perfect in your steps from rock to rock to successfully navigate the river. The rocks won’t move, you know. Just you decide when to step and where you’re going, and it gets easier. Don’t step before you’re ready. Don’t take silly risks unnecessarily. Take as long as you need. Don’t rush. There is really no point in it. The important thing is to enjoy your journey and don’t take silly risks for no reason.

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So I catch a glimpse of Grandfather behind me. He’s just stepping calmly from stone to stone like he was walking in the woods. His balance seems perfect! I’m wondering how he makes it look so easy, and I feel a hot rush of resentment. He is far older than me! He’s showing me up. Ignoring a handy rock handhold, I step across a long stretch, lose my balancing and windmill wildly from stone to stone to the far side. Embarrassed, I look back at Grandfather, but he’s just watching the river slide past his perch. Chagrined, I think I just got another lesson. Don’t show off. Don’t ignore a friendly helping hand just because I want others to see how hot I am.

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Finally, on the other side, I revel in my adventure. It has been 50 years since I did anything so foolhardy and adventurous! Grandfather sits beside me and we enjoy a few moments rest. A small flock of geese are watching us warily from a short distance, and I can see a small creek that winds off into the woods. Someday, I think, I’m going to follow that branch off through the forest and see where it leads.

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“That was fun!” I say. “Yup!,” he says, and smiles.

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I’m thinking now about my car back at the parking lot. In order to get back, we’re going to have to go back across the river and retrace our steps back through the woods. Just like life, I’m thinking. I’ve spent my whole life getting here, and what does it mean. I’ve worked my way across a river, and I’m only on the other side of the river. Am I better off? No, I’m thinking. I’m just on the other side of the river. Both sides of the river look exactly the same. I spent my whole life working my **** off to get to retirement. The real question is, have I enjoyed the journey? Did I enjoy the company I shared, the friendships, the lovers. I realize how I spent most of my own life struggling to get ahead, worrying about promotions or people who seemed to be getting ahead of me, jealously guarding my turf or prerogatives, trying to hold on to what I had. I figure that was really pretty stupid of me.

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I gave Grandfather a hug, thanked him for walking beside me as teacher and friend, and told him I loved him.

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“Let’s go home!,” I said. And off we went again