Doing That Thing You're Pretty Sure Can't Be Done

Advice from a poet, so, you know, for what that's worth.

Photo probably not taken in January, at least not in the northern hemisphere. By Vincentiu Solomon on Unsplash

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So it’s the year it is, in the times we’re living in. And yes, it’s also the dead of winter, up here above the Equator anyway.

So maybe you’re ready now to at least think about doing that thing (you know that thing) that seems urgently necessary and also challenges your skill set, not to mention the laws of probability. If not now, then maybe you’ll be ready to think about it in a month or two, when there’s more sunlight in circulation.

When you are ready to try that thing (you know the one), the advice in this poem will … probably not help a bit. But maybe you’ll remember it and smile, or remember it and roll your eyes, and that second’s worth of distraction will be enough to help you start moving. That’s a win.

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INSTRUCTIONS FOR WALKING ON WATER                             2010


Know
where you want to go.
Intend to get there.
Just keep the currents in mind — 
how many other places
you might end up.

Don’t expect
water to change itself
on your behalf. Water has
its own depths, own destinations.  
Let it be, let your with-water-self
change instead.

Do expect
to get your feet wet. More,
expect the ripples to tickle
your soles to giggling-point.
Go ahead, laugh. Splash. It helps
with balance.

Don’t run, 
unless you want to sink.
If speed is what
you're after, try dancing:
chassé maybe,
or samba.

Let go 
of this thing you’re doing.
Step out on ticklish 
feet, surrender the gravity 
of the situation, 
one splash at a time.

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I wrote this entire poem to get to the pun in the last stanza. It is a shaggy-dog-story of a poem. Maybe it’s something else as well, but on the shaggy-dog basis alone, it’s dear to me. I hope you like it too. Woof.