dog paddle

I can't keep up. And you've never asked me to. And I know you would never expect me to. And I know that I can't. So I quietly accept it and just try to be gracious. For the most part I'm actually glad you're so far ahead. It means I don't have to swim as far or as fast, and that you're clearing the way for both of us. I'm tired of being the one who had to do all the work while everyone else just floated on their backs and enjoyed the scenery. And for now I know it's OK to kinda swim in your path, follow behind. But I'm starting to flail a bit. Not a lot, but it's getting harder to keep up.

If I start to really struggle I know I'll still be OK. No one will let me drown. I have a hard time asking for help, but I know I'm smart enough to ask for a hand when I need it and not get sucked down by a riptide. The life guards will be more than happy to throw me a line. And I know I'll be invited into your life boat, and eventually we'll drift on over to that little island where we'll relax on the beach, sitting under a palm tree, watching the waves crash up on the sand -- but I also know that won't be for a little while. I can see the island but it's not as close as it sometimes seems. So while I'm out here swimming on my own, for now, I want to be able to keep my head above water. I may have to take a break and tread for a minute or two, and I'm fine with that. I know you'll always keep me in your sights and not leave me behind.

It's not always easy swimming on my own. But I'm kicking as hard as I can.