Looking for that simple day

One of the most beautiful songs I've heard in a long time...

February Song
by Josh Groban

Where has that old friend gone
Lost in a February song
Tell him it won't be long
Til he opens his eyes, opens his eyes
Where is that simple day
Before colors broke into shades
And how did I ever fade
Into this life, into this life

And I never want to let you down
Forgive me if I slip away
When all that I've known is lost and found
I promise you I, I'll come back to you one day

Morning is waking up
And sometimes it's more than just enough
When all that you need to love
Is in front of your eyes
It's in front of your eyes

And I never want to let you down
Forgive me if I slip away
Sometimes it's hard to find my ground
Cause I keep on falling as I try to get away
From this crazy world

And I never want to let you down
Forgive me if I slip away
When all that I've known is lost and found
I promise you I, I'll come back to you one day

Where has that old friend gone
Lost in a February song
Tell him it won't be long
Til he opens his eyes
Opens his eyes

"Eezma, Eezma! Put your hands in the air!"

I've decided that being in your twenties is much like rafting down a river. The river current thus far has been steady and predictable - childhood, school, college, graduation. You've had guides along the way such as parents, family, and teachers, who have helped to navigate the stickier parts of the stream and around hidden rocks that scrape underneath your raft. Sure, you hit some rough patches which bumped and bruised but all in all you emerged clean and feeling on top of your game. For some of us, after graduating college, we even felt so bold as to jump outside the raft and swim around a bit in the water while the current picks up its speed. Then, all of a sudden, you lose sight of your guide ahead. More water is plunging towards your lungs so you scramble back into the raft and hold on for dear life as this sickening pit settles in your stomach. The river is going way too fast for comfort now and that nice little track you thought you followed has bent to the right and there was no way you could make the turn. So now you're on your own fending for yourself against this gushing current of unknown turns and rocks and you can't help but feel that a free fall is threatening your nerves up ahead. But you can't see it. Your gut tells you this is horribly wrong. You're out of your element. You need to turn back. But there's no way to turn back now. You've got to brave the elements here. Waterfall up ahead? Sharp rocks at the bottom? Bring it on.

Yeah, I've found myself curled up in the bottom of my raft lately wondering where the heck I'm headed. I thought master's of counseling sounded like a great graduate degree to pursue but that pathway has led me into even more uncomfortable waters, thick with marshy introspection and slow to pass over the submerged hurtings of humanity. I've found out that it's not the right path for me, although the detour has provided much healing and growth. So now I'm coming to the end of this channel and the open waters of that rushing river are once again up ahead. I hear the roar of the current now and that feeling of fear has crept back down into my gut. But I have my lifevest on tightly and my paddle is still in tact. I think I can find the right channel for my next course even if it might take getting through a little panic in that mainstream current.

And yet, one thing that I've found to be common among my fellow twenty-somethings is that we all fear that rushing river. We cling to work and hobbies to preoccupy us from it. We get married and start families to somewhat avoid going through it alone. And yet we oftentimes make it more difficult for ourselves in the process. More difficult, say, than if we'd just hunkered down in that raft with the lifevest held tight around us and settle in for the crazy ride ahead. I think that perhaps we're all curious and excited about what we fear... and maybe, just maybe, we're just a little bit hopeful that the falls are up ahead so we can have one thrill of a ride.