"APPARENTLY, I AM A DUCK!" by Julianna Rowe

  And the duck isn't another self-help guru telling you to manifest calmer water. The duck knows the water isn't going to cooperate. That's the whole dang point.

"APPARENTLY, I AM A DUCK" 

I have decided I am a duck. Not because I particularly want to be a duck, mind you, but because lately life has left me searching for something, anything that knows how to survive a ridiculous amount of water. Think about a duck. The water rises, the duck rises. The water falls, the duck falls. The pond gets deep, shallow, clean, dirty, peaceful or downright nasty, and the duck just keeps floating. Rain? Duck floats. Hail? Duck floats. Snow? Duck finds a safe opening. Wind whipping the pond into waves? There she is, bobbing around like she has absolutely no idea she's supposed to be having a nervous breakdown. She'll even pile her babies on her back and keep floating because apparently ducks have responsibilities too. Unless a boat runs over the poor thing, it takes an awful lot to sink a duck. 

And THAT is where I found myself this morning after weeks of life's version of rain, hail, sleet and snow and approximately one hundred and thirty-seven other things I refuse to list because I'm already tired again. I tried sage. See yesterdays post. I tried crystals with no noticeable improvement. I tried inspirational sayings, plain bread, and even my pendulum betrayed me when it apparently couldn't remember my name. And then it occurred to me, perhaps I don't need to clear the water, calm the water, understand the water, analyze the water or ask Saturn why the heck there's so much water aka troubles. Maybe I just need to float. Humans don't get ponds, of course. Our water is life. Sometimes our footing is asphalt, or carpet, or grass, or concrete, and occasionally it feels like somebody dumped a truckload of wet cement directly in our path. We walk through sunshine, rain, hail and snow. We carry children, parents, friends, jobs, bills, memories, grief, fear and sometimes people who really ought to learn to paddle their own dang feet. We can't control the depth of the water underneath us any more than a duck can control the pond, river, or lake. But maybe we can learn something from her. 

She doesn't stand on shore screaming, “WHY IS THE WATER DOING THIS TO ME?” She doesn't consult three YouTube ducks to determine whether Mercury is retrograde. She doesn't burn sage beside the cattails. She doesn't demand that the waves stop before she'll continue living. 

She sways with them. Up she goes and down she comes. Rough water, calm water, muddy water, she is still floating. And underneath that serene little body, those feet may be paddling like the dickens. Nobody sees that part. Maybe that's us too. People see us floating and think we're doing fine. They don't see the feet. They don't know how hard we're paddling underneath just to stay upright. And perhaps that's okay because today I've decided I don't have to conquer the lake. I don't have to know what's coming around the bend. I don't even have to like the dang water. (situation). I only have to stay on top of today's wave. Tomorrow's water can wait until tomorrow. So if you happen to see a woman wandering around looking slightly dazed while muttering “Quack, quack, mother ducker” under her breath, don't worry about her. She's not losing it. She's floating. 🦆

So..... apparently, I’m a duck. I keep paddling when the water gets rough, I float when I probably should sink, and according to the T-shirt I found online, (Etsy) I even “float well with others.” Although frankly, lately I’d prefer my own pond.  And now I am waddling away until we meet again.  

The Happy News Lady