When something stressful invades my life, I always find myself turning to water.
Living inland, I can’t enjoy the comfort of deep blue water or the sound of crashing ocean waves. But there are peaceful lakes and rivers all over the world, and they are there for you in times of despair.
My river—the Wabash—isn’t blue like the ocean unless the sun is very bright and the sky is cloudless. It’s often a cool, pale green. While watching the gentle, rippling waves moving up toward the bend in the river, I begin to relax , knowing that the Wabash is here for me now, and tomorrow. It’s steady and predictable and comforting. And even if I’m not stressed out, it give me a sense of awe that heightens my self awareness and satisfaction with life in general.
The river in my city isn’t a particularly popular destination. The far side of it is lined with trailers where poor people used to live, and some still do. A cluster of subsidized senior housing units nearby doesn’t add much glamour. It isn’t a ritzy, fashionable spot, although the city has cleaned up our side, and provided grassy parks where children can play, and shelters where folks can picnic. But it’s lined with towering trees and leafy bushes, and if I walk there around noon, I see many parked cars with solitary drivers. reading books or cheering themselves up from whatever might be wrong in their lives. Actually, I’m glad my river is a well kept secret. It wouldn’t be nearly as peaceful if it were overrun with crowds. There’s a movement in the town to do something like the river walk in San Antonio, Texas, but I’m hoping that doesn’t come to pass in my lifetime. Right now, I like driving past the small childhood home of musician Paul Dresser who wrote, “On the Banks of the Wabash,” and his brother, Theodore Dreiser , the author of “Sister Carrie” , and feel that moment of joy when I see the sun light shining across the water.
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