The Emerald Mile, by Kevin Fedarko, recounts a journey that set the speed record for running the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon under epic high-water conditions in 1983.  I found the story gripping, impossible to put down, and fraught with metaphors for life.  This week I am re-posting a past issue in which I reflected on whitewater metaphors.  The images have renewed resonance for me as we explore options for flowing with stress in its many forms.

And now, the rerun:  The metaphor of whitewater was introduced by my buddy Jane several years ago.  In looking ahead to an extra-busy week, she wrote that she was perched on the bank of a fast-moving stream, preparing to jump in and hoping to stay afloat.   We have often returned to that image over the years.

The joy of living in a state of flow is seen to arise from the perfect match between skills and challenges (see Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi).  Whitewater goes a step further to push the limits and demand that we develop new skills.  In whitewater, the current is powerful and the hydraulics complex.  The movement is swift, and our responses must be intuitive and instantaneous.  Small errors of judgment can flip us and carry us on an even wilder ride.

People who excel at running whitewater have developed skills in planning, presence, and recovery.  They plan by studying a stretch of river in advance, running it repeatedly in their imaginations until the pattern of flow and response has become engrained in their very being.  They employ presence in midst of the action.  When they are in motion, they don't think things through and weigh the options; they don't worry about what will happen if things don't come together. They are intensely present, focused on the demands of the instant.   When upsets occur, and they always do, the whitewater expert knows how to flip upright in an eye's blink.  

In order to experience flow in life when the pace picks up, it is helpful to model our efforts on the skills of those who run rapids for fun (and live to tell about it).  Look ahead, memorize the current, develop strategies for unexpected twists and turns; rehearse.   When riding the current, set aside the fearful mind.  Notice what is happening now and trust in training to guide the response.  When the boat flips over, draw on repeated practice to return upright with a few deft strokes.

Look out to the week ahead.  Where are the holes, the eddies, and the rocks?  Is there a waterfall?  Are you prepared to launch the week and ride the current with confidence?  If so, practice your Eskimo roll and go for it.  If not, listen to your inner voice and carry your boat around the most hazardous conditions.