My Life Is A River

Or, how to paddle without getting swept away

I don’t preach or pretend I have all the answers. Or even a good percentage. No, I’m not the wise old man, with a toga and long staff. These are just the thoughts of one man—me. Take what you want, leave the rest, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something in my ramblings that resonates with your own story. Life, after all, is different for each of us, but the current is the same and it’s the current that pulls us all.

Life’s a river. I don’t mean that in some philosophical, embroidered-pillow way. I mean it literally feels like being swept along, sometimes in control, sometimes flailing, but always moving toward something bigger than yourself. That’s been my experience, anyway. Your mileage may vary.

It starts fast. For me, it was all about speed and momentum in the beginning—childhood, youth, whatever you want to call it. Those were the headwaters, roaring and relentless, pushing me forward. I thought I was in charge, paddling like mad, but now, looking back, I see how little I actually controlled. I was just going with the flow, trying not to hit too many rocks.

Then comes the middle stretch. The current slows, the river widens, and you realize you’ve left behind the frantic energy of the early years. That’s when I started to think more about where I was headed and whether I was really enjoying the journey. There were rapids, of course—there always are—but there were also quiet stretches, moments to reflect. And reflection, I’ve learned, can be a double-edged sword. It brings wisdom, sure, but also the kind of questions that keep you up at night. Was I doing it right? Was it worth it?

Now, I’m closer to the delta, the place where the river meets the ocean. It’s calmer here, but not without its challenges. The big questions loom larger. What’s left? How do I make it count? And what do I do with this lingering feeling that life, for all its beauty and chaos, is so much bigger than me?

Finding Peace: The Calm in the Chaos

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life doesn’t hand you peace. You have to find it—or maybe build it—inside yourself. For a long time, I thought peace was something external: a bigger paycheck, a nicer house, the approval of others. Spoiler alert: It’s not. Peace doesn’t come from the outside. It comes from accepting that the outside world doesn’t give a damn about your plans.

There’s a Zen saying I’ve come to love: “Do not seek the flame of comfort from others; light the lantern within yourself.” That’s what I’ve been trying to do—light my own inner fire. Some days, it burns bright. Other days, it’s barely a flicker. But it’s mine, and that’s enough.

Meditation helps, though I’m no monk. For me, it’s less about sitting cross-legged in silence and more about finding moments of stillness wherever I can—watching the sunrise, listening to the rain, or just breathing deeply when the world feels overwhelming. Inner peace isn’t about avoiding the rapids; it’s about learning to paddle through them without tipping over.

Taking Care of the Vessel: This Body of Mine

The body is a funny thing. When you’re young, you treat it like it’s indestructible. You push it, punish it, and expect it to bounce back without complaint. But as you get older, you realize it’s not a machine; it’s a fragile, temperamental vessel, and if you don’t take care of it, it’ll fall apart on you.

I’m not a health nut by any stretch. You won’t find me doing CrossFit or drinking kale smoothies. But I try to keep the basics in check: move a little every day, eat food that doesn’t come in a box, and sleep like it’s a sacred act. It’s not about looking good or living forever. It’s about staying strong enough to keep paddling, no matter what the river throws at me.

Money Matters, But Not Like You Think

Let’s talk about money, that necessary evil. It won’t buy you happiness, but it’ll keep the roof over your head and the fridge stocked, and that’s no small thing. Financial independence isn’t about being rich; it’s about not having to beg. It’s about knowing you can handle whatever comes your way without leaning on others more than you have to.

For me, that’s meant living within my means—not flashy, not extravagant, but solid. It’s also meant planning ahead, which I wish I’d started earlier. If I could give my younger self one piece of advice, it’d be this: Save. Even if it’s just a little, save something. Your future self will thank you. I never did that.

Relationships: The People Who Paddle With You

I’ve had my share of relationships—friends, family, partners—and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that not all of them are meant to last the whole journey. Some people are here for a season, a chapter, a stretch of the river. And that’s okay. Letting go is part of life.

The ones who stay, though? They’re the gold. These are the people who lift you up, who share their strength when yours falters, and who don’t let you drift too far from yourself. I’ve learned to cherish these relationships, to nurture them like a garden. And I’ve learned to let go of the toxic ones—the people who weigh you down, tip your boat, or drain your energy. Sometimes they don’t reveal themselves initially, but eventually they do.

Purpose: The Current That Keeps You Moving

If there’s one thing that keeps me paddling, it’s purpose. I don’t mean some grand, cosmic calling. I’m not trying to save the world or leave a legacy. My purpose is simpler than that: to live fully, to appreciate the journey, and to do some good along the way.

Sometimes purpose is as small as planting a tree or helping a neighbor. Sometimes it’s as big as finding love or making peace with your past. Whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to matter to you.

The Ocean Awaits

Here’s the thing about rivers: They all end in the ocean. That’s not something to fear; it’s just the way it is. Life moves forward, whether we like it or not. The best we can do is paddle with grace, accept what we can’t control, and make the journey worthwhile.

So that’s my take—one man’s opinion, shaped by years of trying to get it right, getting it wrong, and getting up to try again. Life’s bigger than us, sure. But within its vast, uncontrollable current, we have the power to steer, even if just a little. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.