Flow

Living on the island of Manhattan has plenty of benefits, but the two most meaningful to me are the rivers surrounding it, the East and Hudson. You see I'm an Aquarius, a true water baby at heart. Further proof of this is my love of water, evident as a former lifeguard, swim instructor and certified scuba diver. Water has always called to me, and continues to do so.

During my lunch break at my day job I like to walk to the East River, which aligns with east side of Manhattan. This may sound like a simple thing, but I’ve always been a west-sider on this island, and the river closest to my many dwellings has consistently been the Hudson. The East River versus the Hudson River can be a spot of contention for some New York City dwellers, but to me it’s all water. At my lunch, East is closer, so that's where I head.

As I tune into my iPod and begin my walk, I'm already happier than I was a moment before. I have pep in my step and a sense of appreciative anxiety, knowing that I’m going to be near water soon. I zip through the circuit-board streets as a woman on a mission, as if I'm beckoned. As I close in on the steps to the lookout point, I can already catch a glimpse of the river. I hop up the stairs and stride right to the edge of the fence and take in my first look of the day.

It’s new to me every time — the river is never boring and it never disappoints. I stand there for the first few moments and allow myself to absorb it all. The ripples in the water flirt and dance with each other in a chaotic ballet. I imagine this is what a conversation would look like if words took shape in water, and everyday I stop by to hear what the river has to say. I find it opens my mind, and is usually a metaphor for what is happening in my life. I see and feel the churning and angst in some spots where the current picks up. I hear the consistent and soft humming that never stops. I watch the waves attempt to make their way up shore every few seconds only to recede again. And then come back for more, never giving up. Then there are little pockets of water that appear completely still, where you could probably see your own reflection if you were close enough. I like to think of them as little pockets of clarity and calm in the midst of all of this activity, and the location of those spots change daily.

And while all of this happens, the river as a whole pushes forward. No matter what's different on that day, which pockets seem intense and which seem calm, the river as a whole flows on … heading to where it was always meant to go. This is what I respect most about the river. I come everyday to see and hear what is different and new, but also to know that it marches on and follows its path.

Such is my life as a mother: definitely chaotic and full of purpose, surrounded by the consistent humming of my family's days whizzing by, and enlightened with little pockets of clarity sprinkled in. As I let my mind wander free and observe my thoughts doing their own chaotic dance in my head, I know no matter what challenges I'm facing, things will march on and I will continue down my path … just like the river.

When I turn my back on the river and say goodbye, I always leave with more clarity than I had when I arrived. I like to think of it as the river's personal gift to me, but the truth is it’s really a gift I give myself. I've allowed myself a few minutes to zen it out, a precious commodity worth more than almost anything. It centers me, grounds me and tunes me into the flow of my day. And so onward I flow with balance and strength, ready to face the next one.

Author: Amy