I never learned the art of diving into the water. I’m pretty sure reading Joni Eareckson Tada’s biography as a 6th grader had something to do with it, but I’m not sure what else. I get the mechanics of diving. I can probably even tell someone else how to attempt a good dive, and of course I’ve watched enough Olympics to be a poolside judge in any diving competition.
Thankfully my fears of plunging headlong into the water haven’t translated into most of the rest of my life. Sometimes I need to scope out the situation–ask questions abouut the possible dangers hidden beneath the glistening waters, test the temperature, gather information about the way the wind blows. Most of the time, though, I’m pretty good at just launching into what’s next.
The ability to dive into life often serves me well. It allows me to be friendly towards so many new people every year. (Don’t tell them . . . but I really don’t like the process of meeting people.) It allows me to try new ideas. It allows me to pick up the pieces when the ideas fail or to give credit where it’s due when they succeed. It allows me to travel to new places where anything that’s written or spoken bears no resemblance to anything I write or speak. It allows me to make my pinterest boards be more than pretty pictures and my blog to have more entries. It allows me to let so many people take up space in my heart every year.
I may not always lead with my head, but diving into life with my heart first isn’t such a bad way to live.