Worth Hooting About

I am an introvert by nature. My best friends are few, most are books, and I adore stealing a few hours to myself whenever possible. But deep down inside, I know that it is not good for me to be alone. It is so easy to fall down the rabbit hole that rejoices in aloneness, where you are beholden to no one. Where only your own needs be met. Where there is no tiresome shallow conversation to endure. Where the words are all yours.

That, my friends, is sometimes needed in order to hear the small voice God often uses. This is when immersing oneself in nature is a healthy option. But I think it is

decidedly unhealthy to intentionally flee others in order to pamper your own selfishness.”

And so it was that I found myself part of a raft of friends on a kayak trip down the Crystal River last week. It was filled with all the usual hullaballoo of getting six aging gals safely onto, and down the river. Laughter. Beauty. Encouragement. And enough still water to still the soul. 

If you were to ask me in an unguarded moment about river tripping with other women, I would automatically reply that it’s too loud, too much of a pain to try and keep together, and far less desirable than a quiet, moody, lovely, silent paddle alone.  (Yes, my filter is aging out, and my mouth runs ahead of my thinking in these moments).

But last week proved to me how wrong I am to assume that fun in nature must always be a solo experience. Last week, a rising storm to the east serenaded us with a rumbly bass of thunder, and a happy kingfisher jabbered and scolded us around each bend. The crystal clear water was a delight, showing the whirled swirly stone patterns made by the currents. The river was snagged with cedar downfall, those trees leaning over the water in last-gasp attempts to stay upright. They made me think of my own declining posture with age, as my hip flexors weaken, and my torso is pitched forward as if my head is too heavy, making my eyes look down when what I want is to look up and around.

Yes, there were noisy moments. But the silent interludes were magical.

We could be together and present and paddling in harmony, spread out down the river like so many Pooh sticks tossed off the bridge.”

I could back into a side calm and listen. Gaze. Inhale. Relax. And I find that the sistership of these companions was a gift to my gnarly, lonely soul.

At the takeout bridge, there was a three-headed culvert that pitched the rising current to the other side. I thought I should takeout before then, just to be safe. But then a friend disappeared into the culvert and just like that she was gone with hoots and shrieks. I could hear her laughing on the other side. And before I knew it, I was lining up to run the culvert, scooching down to make sure my head cleared the ceiling, and the current rushed me in, and through, popping the boat out the other side in a flash of boat-borne joy I had not experienced in a very long time. 

And that’s the thing of it; experiences in Creation are best when shared.”

Part of the joy of it all is being able to turn to someone and find validation that this is beautiful. Sacred. Healing. Worth hooting about.

Thanks for reading! We are off to France for a long-awaited wedding. If there is internet, I may be able to post from the French Alps. Special thanks to all the folks back here lined up to house sit! And to my paddling gals.

Julie A.P. Walton, Ph.D.

jpraywalton.writing@gmail.com