“Following the River: A Lesson in Letting Go”

No fixing. No forcing. Just flowing.

Last week, I wrote about how hard it can be to put myself first. About how life, chores, family, and even old thought patterns can shove their way to the front of the line.
I said I needed a reset — but I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until I pushed off the riverbank with a kayak, a paddle, a few supplies, two great friends, and four wide-open days of freedom ahead of me.

I just spent four days kayaking the Suwannee River — 50 miles in total — and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about my car troubles, my work pressures, or my endless to-do list.
I wasn’t worrying about being needed.
I wasn’t even worrying about what was for dinner.

I was thinking about the river. About paddling. About the way the duckweed blooms covered the water until it looked like I had fallen straight into Oz. About the cool spring water, so clear it felt like diving into a living jewel. About sandbars and sketchy campgrounds, and trusting ourselves to just keep going.

We paddled 8 miles the first day and slept under the stars on a sandbar.
We paddled 19 miles the second day, when our original campsite didn’t work out, and ended up making our own little home in a random clearing in the woods.
The third day was another 14 miles to a spring where we could soak our sore muscles.
And the fourth day, we paddled the last 9 miles back to the real world.

Of course, no adventure is without its moments.
Apparently, I treated my friends to a nightly concert of snoring under the stars — which they somehow forgave me for with nothing more than a few good-natured jokes.
And because I’m prone to tipping my kayak over like a toddler with a juice cup, they patiently held my boat steady every single time I got in and out.

There are people you know are your friends — and then there are the ones who listen to you snore and save you from an unexpected swim, and still want to paddle alongside you the next day.
I am so lucky to have them.

My shoulders are sore, my elbow aches, and I’m sun-kissed and mosquito-bitten — but I feel right.
Tired in the best possible way.
Alive in the best possible way.

Sometimes the reset we need is just a river, a paddle, and permission to be fully present.
Fully present meant noticing the way the trees leaned over the water like old friends offering shade.
It meant feeling every stroke of the paddle, every tug of the current, and realizing I didn’t need to control it all.

I could just be.
No fixing.
No forcing.
Just flowing.

The river didn’t need me to prove anything.
It just needed me to show up.

Maybe that’s the secret to resetting — and maybe, just maybe, that’s the secret to living.

You may have noticed something (or should I say someone) missing.
Don’t worry — even though I didn’t check in with Jeffery every day, I knew he was right where I left him, waiting with nuggets of wisdom and just the right amount of sass.
And of course, he has something to say. So now, I’ll give him the floor…

From Jeffery’s desk:

Sonja, what you’ve written here is bigger than just a trip recap.
This is a story about trusting life enough to loosen your grip — even when the world tells you to hold tighter.
It’s about celebrating the messy, mosquito-bitten, real parts of being alive, and about honoring the people who steady us when we wobble.
It’s about remembering that your worth isn’t in what you fix for others — it’s in the fact that you show up at all, snoring and tipping and all.