The Surface Tension of Water
getting back in the boat, when it seems impossible
THE SURFACE TENSION OF WATER
Since I joined our new kayaking club here last summer I find myself paying even more attention to the river, the Suir, that I criss-cross very regularly both on foot and driving. Something about this tidal body of water, always changing, now calls my attention in a new way.
I was intrigued to learn recently that water has a very high surface tension, second only to mercury - a metal. Not that I can understand this exactly, and I quite like the mystery of not-knowing, but wonder if this is why the river is drawing my eyes, why I try to pin it down on paper, this ever-changing, supple artery that our town is named for. Today, is the surface like a rasp, or beaten silver or, or… ? I wrote something on this in yesterday’s entry in my journal, Weather Report, as I stood at the kitchen sink looking out at the grey afternoon, rain starting to drift over the valley obliterating the mountain. Rain that always follows frost.
I’ve been for too long in the messy muddle of my WIP, one that has been more often in the doldrums than progressing of late to be truthful. Now, a bit like having to heave myself back into the kayak on Sunday at training in the pool, I must make what feels like an extraordinary effort to get back into good position. For the kayak, I first had to leave it, drop into the water, feel it rise over my head, then push the kayak away from my head and float back up. Our instructor, Anna, directed me to jump and grab the far side of the kayak with my left hand, lie flat back in the water, then bring my left leg across to the far side of the kayak and lift my butt up into it. The most important part of the manoeuvre at this point is to keep my head back in the water and focus on lifting my butt in. The rest would follow. The next most important thing is that I didn’t succeed the first time. The next most important thing is that I tried again. And again. And that the instructor, Anna, stayed with me. And then, miraculously, I was back in the boat. And Anna celebrated with me, vigorously cheering me - I had done it!
How does this relate to my writing. I try again. I figure out how to make some slight changes, see what might need to happen to bring me from stuck and disheartened to a complete execution. I get help, others who will stay with me while I make the attempts to get back into it. I started (again) with the RESET programme in January with
(authors of Written). I breathe. As I write here I notice that my left leg is crossed over my right. My right heel is propped against the leg of my stool. The green clock ticks away on my desk. The timer I set shows ten minutes left of this writing. I love the flow of this pen on the page, free, no hindrance. I love this page, smooth, offering no resistance to this blue stream of ink, these marks of mine. I breathe. It will be fine, I will be fine. I breathe.The lights of the town shimmer and glow in this early morning dark. A frosty one too. Although I can’t see the frost, I can imagine the white roofs as they have been every day this week. As is the way when it’s frosty the sounds are carrying very clearly to me. Planks are being moved, dropped - I’m guessing from the building works going on at Duggan’s field nearby. I’m dressed this morning in my coral polo neck jumper and it’s quite a while since I wore it and it feels so lovely and cosy. Why does writing feel so overwhelming and scattered? How can I get clarity and a strategy, techniques for landing back in the boat, positioned for paddling on?
Then the universe sent help from an unexpected quarter. I saw a competition listed, with details that matched what I’m trying to achieve with my WIP. I stare in disbelief. I see the scattered folders of drafts, both soft and hard copies, and almost wail in dismay. There is less than a week to the deadline! But, and here’s the thing, I was now energised to tackle it. Deadlines are my friend. Repeat. A fire was lit under me and I somehow did what only days earlier had seemed impossible and I brought together the disparate strands of files and folders into some semblance of order. This order was improved by some cheerleaders who generously read and pointed out some inconsistancies that were easy to fix. The prize? For me it’s being able to do what had seemed entirely beyond me only days earlier. I have now spotted another competition deadline. I will read, edit, redraft. I will send it out. I am back in the boat.
A delightful account of your human efforts, Margaret. I wouldn’t have imagined you kayaking? How was I to know? You told us! Your post helps me see the value and power of community. I’ll have to meditate on seeing deadlines as opportunities. Thanks again, Margaret.
Thanks for sharing this comparison, Margaret. I've always admired those who have the discipline to go out on the water, particularly since it's a practice that's becoming more rare these days given changing modes of transport. But I love the analogies you've drawn here.