Rolling, Rolling, and Learning

My friend ends her message to me with RWIA and I have no idea what it means.

It sounds exotic, surely she will explain.

She does, a couple of lines down on our morning text.

It means Rolling With It All, she writes.

Ah yes. Yes, yes yes. This I recognize very well. An indispensable superpower without which we would be hurting daily. A mantra of sorts.

Decades ago someone told me about the River of Life, and about our choices on how to be in relationship with it. Basically: how to live. One choice was to fight the current all the way, try to control every twist and turn … and exhaust ourselves, bump our heads on the overhead branches, get bruised, and arrive at the inevitable sea all beat up, bitter, and out of breath. The other choice was to get on our backs, put our hands behind our necks, and let the flow take us, looking up at the sky the whole time, delighting in the birds above, and arriving at the inevitable sea rested and enchanted. I have never forgotten this image.
Floating, rolling. Such ease in both words. So natural, too.

It is my observation that the River of Life may be a bit more twisty, down here. At least until either from frustration-exhaustion or from wisdom, we do manage to put our hands behind our necks and float, trusting that yes, we will eventually get to the beautiful sea.

These days, the sea for me is fixing a few leaks on my roof, getting some help cutting down the enormous bougainvilleas that I can’t reach and are getting taller than my house, and getting my car back from the mechanic, the other mechanic.

Two and a half months without a car. In the rainy season, in the countryside, with two dogs.

Being without a car is not easy but it’s nothing compared to whatever it is that happens when I allow myself to be frustrated by the … what will I call it? The Hardening? The Hardening that happens when “it will be ready in three days” turns into three weeks, then four. The fear-induced Hardening. That’s where the real pain is. The over-focusing too, the lack of communication leading to a sense of being out of control because there is really nothing I can do other than well, float, roll. And wait.

Whew.

Mama Mexico. She has lessons, she teaches the masterclass. She teaches us to stretch and learn to do things we didn’t know we could do ourselves, and then she teaches us to have patience with whatever we need help with. Really, she teaches us to trust.

Years into living here, and years into navigating many various roads I am still clear on my two main takeaways. Here they are again:

1) my desired timeline is of little interest to anyone, seemingly not even to the universe.
2) it always works out. Always. Maybe not the way I had planned it, but it does always work out.

Something about the combination of these two points soothes me, the way being lovingly rocked might soothe a child’s temper tantrum. I find myself softening, putting down my useless defenses, leaning into a healthful space of patience, and gaining some perspective, too. It is so easy to let the overhead branches become All There Is, get hardened, over-focused, and forget about the birds.

So today, I remind myself of this and I trust. I trust that the leaks on my roof WILL be fixed at just the perfect time, I trust that the plants will not eat my house and I trust, because I have to, that I will - at just the right time - get my car back, fixed and ready to play.
Meanwhile, every single day I am grateful for my little quad and the wind of adventure that blew my way and inspired me to buy it. I am grateful that most of my house is dry and more than anything, I am grateful that I am, day by day, learning float and learning to Roll With It All.

Today, I invite you to look at the places where you might be hardening, fearing, resisting. And then I invite you to try if only for half an hour, to float, to breathe, and to trust that yes, you will get to the sea. At the perfect time.