Going for a ride

As we sit here at JFK airport preparing to board our plane for Japan, this is what I've been thinking.

Every now and then people make decisions that remind me of that feeling you get right after leaping off of a diving board for your first dip into a pool. Perfectly dry, you travel through the air and sort of wonder about the decision you've just made.

Sure, the pool's clear, cool water looked inviting as you approached the edge of the platform; and it's a warm, sunny day, perfect for a swim. But now, as your movement upward is overcome by the force of gravity and you're briefly suspended in the air, neither rising nor falling, you think, I wonder how cold that water is? Maybe I should wade into this. And how clean is it? Look at all the people reading and sunbathing in the lounge chairs. That sure looks relaxing. Maybe I didn't really need to do this. But it's too late. There is no changing your mind. The decision you made a second ago when you launched yourself from stability has set into motion a series of events that will transpire with considerable certainty. You will briefly fly through the air. Gravity will pull you toward the earth. You will hit the water at about 30 mph (I like the high-dive). You will get wet. So there in mid-air, as you begin to fall, you think, nothing I can do now but brace myself!

I've gotten this feeling many times in life. Choosing a college, accepting a job offer, putting a ring on a certain young woman's finger, then putting another ring - one signifying a deeper promise - on that same finger several months later.... Obviously I think all those decisions were good ones. But each time, once the decision in my head became a public commitment to another person (or people), I felt an overwhelming sense that I was no longer in control. I'd become a passenger of life, maybe having chosen a destination and a route, but far from being in the driver's seat (which may explain all the detours). This is how I've felt since accepting the referral for baby Gunner.

Back to the diving board analogy. I've never regretted splashing into the water after a dive. I love that feeling, and I've always put enough thought into it that no matter how cold the water is, I know I'll enjoy it when I'm surrounded by it. But after all these years jumping into pools on hot, summer days, I've never shaken that feeling. Now I'm suspended in the air. In a few days, I'll brace myself.