Why I Stopped Chasing the Current

Do lakes get jealous of rivers? Sure, a lake is a "destination," but rivers have the reputation. They’re sexy. They leave. They go wherever they want.

I grew up near the Mississippi, and honestly, the reality didn't match the hype. Despite the curves, it wasn't sexy—it was fast, brown, and indifferent. You watched it pass, but you didn’t get in. Contrast that with Percy Priest Lake, which is stuck in place and constantly choked with fishermen.

Lately, I feel like the lake. There are swarms of 20-somethings whizzing by like the river, seeing things I can't imagine. Meanwhile, I’m sitting still, getting "fished dry" by the same people, waiting for a current that never comes.

For a long time, I was a resentful lake. I was resigned to being "available"—just a stationary thing people took from. It felt wrong that all the beauty I contained was trapped, cursed to wait for an audience rather than finding one.

I wanted to be the river. I wanted to be free, carving a path through the world. But then I looked down and realized the truth: I wasn't stuck. I was deep.

I realized I’d been living on the surface, afraid of my own depths. But even in the muck, there is a world to explore. Those regulars aren't fishing me dry; they are coming back for sustenance.

My shores are wide enough to be inviting, yet vast enough to provide isolation when I need it. Even when I'm choppy on the surface, there is respite below.

I’m not saying rivers aren't great. They’ll take you on a hell of an adventure. But just remember: A river can’t stay the night.

Word Count: ~265 words

Approximate Read Time: 1 minute, 15 seconds