Wednesday, March 12, 2014

I'll be honest, I'm avoiding writing the next part of "our story".  I like it and I'd love to share it.  But I've been thinking so much on conversation lately and working intentionally to improve mine and what I post here is an extension of that - this is part of my contribution to the written conversations happening between us all. And I'm tired of the conversation  - so tired, that I'm willing to bite my tongue about John and I's story for a bit longer.

Instead, I'll tell you this.  There's seasons of life where you feel under water.  Not like you're drowning, just like all your movements are fluid and slow, not quiet obstructed but resisted.  You see the other end of the pool and you'd like to get there, but walking feels ridiculous, nearly humorous.  And so you dive under water to swim, but then you can't see where you're going, it's either pitch black or blurry shapes at best - you have to just point yourself in the right direction and hope to get there - bumping into all sorts of people and weird objects that have sunk along your way.  And if you're lucky, you'll get there.  And your shorts will still be on.

I'm in the pool. And swimming itself seems a bit silly right now, because I don't think getting out of the pool is the point.  And I don't know what "end" of the pool is really the best anyways.  But all my movements are so damn slow. I kind of just want to thrash around like a child, cut my arms along the surface and splash.  See if John will let me climb up on his shoulders and jump off.

It's hard to write when you're in a pool.  

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