I remember playing in the river when I was little.
Heading up toward the mountains, there was a quiet, gently flowing stream with no one else around, where my father brought us three siblings. It was a sweltering midsummer day. We searched for beautiful stones, caught fish and insects with nets, and when we grew tired, we yielded ourselves to the gentle current. Swimming in the river felt wonderful.

Overhead, the tree branches veiled the edges of the sky, keeping us wonderfully cool.
Yet, moving away from the riverbank revealed deep spots where my feet could not reach the bottom—a place that felt terrifying, too.

“Don’t go where the green runs deep.”

More than twenty years have passed since then.
Today, letting young children play in a river is considered far too dangerous. There is no comfort quite like having your feet planted on solid ground. Now, I merely recall that summer scene every so often. Whenever I carry pain or murky feelings within me, I imagine myself floating along the river, indulging in the daydream of having everything washed clean.

A river never flows backward. Following gravity, it moves from high places to low. Drops of water seep into the earth, gathering into a grander current—a natural system at work.
Likewise, individuals with their own lives are given an unyielding direction by the land of their birth, their gender, their chosen line of work, and the society surrounding them, living within those constraints.
I have grown completely into an adult.
Confronted by numerous forks in the path before reaching the sea, my heart sometimes feels weighed down.

One cannot resist gravity.

There seems to be nothing to do but quietly surrender to the peaceful river. Distracting oneself within the cool, soothing comfort of its flow is so easy.

Yet, if—at the exact moment my body is gently lifted toward the surface—I could notice that brief, subtle sense of buoyancy…
Perhaps my back might feel a little lighter, I might feel a touch freer, and I might just begin to think in a whole new way.