The Impermanence of All Things
On a cloudless June day, 23 strangers arrived at the Mexican Hat put-in of the San Juan River in Utah. I was one of them. We gathered under the beating sun around five brightly colored rafts as our trip leader and dear friend Slug shouted out a few declarations: drink your water, wear your sunscreen, and most importantly, be open-minded to all things that greet you over the next 6 days we spend together on the river. My stomach lurched with anxiety. Did I forget how to socialize? To connect with other humans? We were thrown into the deep end after a year of isolation and persevering through the unknown. And here we were, at the start of a new adventure. I buried my worries and jumped onto a boat as we pushed off from shore and floated deeper into the canyon.
Over the coming days, the gentle currents of the San Juan soothed my unspoken fears. With no phones, no pre-existing social structures, no where to be, no exceptions of myself or others, we slipped into a sense of familiarity and comfort. People whose names I didn’t know days before started to feel like family. We danced around fires, shared meals, swam naked, explored slot canyons, played games, listened to the silence, and watched sunrises and sunsets together. It felt like an endless daydream. I was constantly in awe of the beauty all around me.
On one of the last nights, we pulled into a camp spot tucked behind the untamed tamarisk on the shoreline. After dinner, people broke off into smaller groups to hike, nap, journal.. maybe go make-out somewhere in the brush. I found myself by the water, laying down, listening to the soft sounds of the river, staring up at one of my new found friends. Silt burrowed between his smile lines. Above him, the canyon walls reached up to touch the dusk sky. We fantasized about going back to the put-in and starting the trip all over again. In this moment, I became fiercely aware that this was going to come to an end. I was jolted by the reminder of the impermanence of all things. My mind searched desperately for a way to hold onto the pure joy I felt. But as soon as I started to think about the future, the happiness dissipated and anxiety started to creep up again. With one deep breath, I settled on acceptance. It’s fun to think about, but in reality, we can’t paddle up river. We can’t stop the forward motion of time. All we can do is be there to enjoy each moment, and try not to regret or forget once it passes.
On the last day, when we curled into each other’s arms for a final embrace, I felt no sadness that it was over. I climbed into the car and watched the group of people and the river so dear to my heart get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. I was filled to the brim with a sense of profound gratitude for the time we shared. But then, I turned my head forward and looked to the horizon, open to the next adventure around the corner.
-Mara
