The Thing About Rivers

Lately I've been saying a lot about how life is like a river, but I never realized how general that statement is until now. There are a million different types of rivers: tiny ones, huge ones, dry ones, swampy ones, short ones, long ones, shallow ones, deep ones, dangerous ones, still ones, rocky ones, stagnant ones, ones with waterfalls, and ones that have a bit of everything. How do you know which river you are? ...and is it possible to switch? What if your river is scaring you and you don't know how to navigate it safely or have the right tools to do so?

Well, the other day I had time to think about this, while sitting in the middle of a river on a warm rock in Switzerland. As my feet were submerged in the fresh, cold water from the Alps, my chin placed lightly on my right kneecap, and my fingertips caressing the surface of the brook, I realized that just because I feel like I'm finally heading downstream instead of upstream against the current doesn't mean there aren't little rocky bits to surpass or rapids to brave or waterfalls to look out for. And right now, my river is a little bit rocky. Yes, the water of happiness still flows around these rocks, but I can't deny that they are there, seemingly in the way. What are these rocks, you may ask?

At the moment, my river is consumed with trying to find a way to stay here legally, and I am frustrated, scared, and a little bit confused. The questions of "What If?" are swirling around in my head like a hidden whirlpool underneath the surface. What if it's too late for me to find something? What if I need it too much? What if a part of me is still afraid of claiming my dreams as my own and making them real? What if I failed myself all because I was too scared to follow through sooner? What if the desire to stay in Italy has become my only identity, my one and only proof that I'm worth something in this world?

Someone told me not too long ago that if you really love being where you are and you love what you do, then the loose ends become minor details. At first I felt reassured, but the more I thought about this the harder it became for me to trust it, because sometimes those minor details get you into some major trouble. Everyone tells me that Italy's bureaucratic system is laughable, and the fact that they like Americans is a plus, but I still can't shake the feeling that being an illegal immigrant is not the right choice for me. I don't want to always be looking over my shoulder, wondering if I'm going to get deported around every bend in the river. I don't want to go through unnecessary rapids when I know another, more calm path on the river exists. But what if the rapids are unavoidable? And maybe tomorrow I will feel differently or something will magically make itself known, but right now that's how I feel.

So as I'm sitting on a rock in the middle of this beautiful river, I'm starting to realize what kind of river mine is. It's not always still and steady, but I realize that for me one like this would be, well...boring. And in my experience I've noticed that sometimes even though a river seems calm on the surface, there are hidden dangers lurking underneath, waiting to grab ahold of you. It's not stagnant, fortunately; mine has a current that may not always be strong, but it's there, slowly but surely carrying me forward. My river isn't dry or swampy or tiny or enormous or shallow. It has rocky segments, and deep, calm segments; it's the perfect size complete with rapids and waterfalls behind me. There might be rapids and waterfalls ahead of me too that I can't see yet (that I promise I won't chase! ;)), but in any case I'm realizing how beautiful my river is regardless of what shows up around the river bend, because at least it's moving; it's fully alive. I understand now that I wouldn't switch rivers, even if I could. And maybe, just maybe, when I feel like I don't know how to navigate it, there will be someone on the riverbank when I least expect it, guiding me, teaching me how.