Why there's no such thing as a straight river.
I have been living in London for a decade. A lot has changed in that time; personal circumstances, economic outlooks, political turmoil, to name a few. But one thing will always remain true about London: the River Thames.
The Thames is synonymous with London for many.
Perhaps in your mind’s eye you see its waters cresting in the foreground of the Houses of Parliament, or red buses cantering over its numerous bridges, or people queuing along its banks to sit atop the London Eye and view the winding waterway from above.
I spent a lot of time running along its banks in my early London days,. The rhythmical nature of running meant I didn’t notice its gentle curves and meandering course. But when viewed from above, I am struck by the Thames’ defining characteristic: it bends. A lot.
Rivers, but particularly winding rivers, take me back to Geography class. That subject felt like learning a random collection of facts, often from dodgy VHS videos, rather than anything inherently useful to my life. But one of the titbits that lodged steadfastly in my brain was the image of how rivers form. How they meander.
Straight rivers don’t exist naturally. Because there are too many variables in life to allow that to happen. All it takes is one small change, like a tiny grain of sand carving a infinitesimally small path into the soil, applied over hundreds or thousands of years, and the whole course of the river will be altered. Millions of tiny grains of sand hold the power - if given enough time - to shape entire landscapes, and subsequent civilisations who settle around them.
That thought has always resonated within me. Those small particles are propelled by the simplest yet most necessary element on this planet; water. I’ve written about the sublime power of bodies of water before, but rivers are different. They’re always moving and crafting, carrying all manner of animals, matter and materials along in their wake.
They’re alive in a nimble and mysterious way that an ocean simply can’t match with its vast, foreboding presence.
Rivers have shaped history. Civilisations have developed around them, providing valuable irrigation for surrounding farmland. Trade routes have relied upon them to move goods across the globe. Wars have been fought on and over them for those same reasons. They’ve played their role in history, and they remain just as significant today. They’re constantly changing as their waters swirl, drift and occasionally rage, yet simultaneously remain the same.
You might say rivers exist in a constant state of flux. By their very nature, they are always changing based on the waters that flow through them. Yet they remain stationary within their surrounding landscapes while doing so. They’re a natural contradiction.
Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher from around 500 BCE, was obsessed with this idea of constant change. And he wrote a beautiful line about rivers to express that thought:
“No person ever steps in the same river twice; for it’s not the same river and you’re not the same person.”
It’s not easy to admit that we’re all still a work in progress. It’s hard to acknowledge that we haven’t arrived at where we think we should be, or that we’ve not yet become the finished product we once imagined. This can be stressful. To varying degrees, I believe that I’m not the only one to feel that there is some level of expectation of defining ‘your brand’, and living up to it. Perhaps that’s through the social media I might expose myself to, or the opinions I might be expected to have, or a level of status others might expect me to achieve.
However, I find Heraclitus’s view of rivers, and me, comforting. Because it offers something rare - moments of self-compassion.
Just as the water particles flowing through any given river are never exactly the same, nor are we as individuals, from day to day.
Every moment, emotion or event, no matter how big or small, shapes us. Like those miniscule grains of sand, when taken individually or at surface level, the smallest moments of our lives most likely have no discernible impact on our daily routines. But they are shaping our futures in imperceptible ways. They are asking us to choose how to respond to them.
And our choices leave us subtly different to who we were the day before.
We are constantly moulded by our experiences. And that means we can never achieve a perfect state of being.
Because as soon as we do, along will come another life experience that will inevitably alter us ever so slightly, out of that momentary state of perceived perfection. We are undeniably different, no matter how subtly, to who or what we were in that state. Moments of perfection might be achievable in some spheres, but lasting perfection cannot exist as a concept. We will always exist in a state of flux because of the experiences we are subjected to.
Once we accept this fact, it frees us to focus on the process, not the result. And when we concentrate our efforts and discipline on doing the things that are best for us, not solely on achieving optimal outcomes, we can treat ourselves with kindness. It becomes easier to acknowledge that we gave our best, even if we didn’t get what we thought we wanted.
There’s nothing wrong with charting my course, and doing everything I can to try to ensure it runs straight and true. The trouble in life only arrives when I try to deny the existence, and impact, of those grains of sand. They are just as much a part of me as my best laid plans. And more often than not I won’t be able to control them. But I will be forced to live with the path they carve for me over time.
“Change is never painful, only the resistance to change is painful.”
For me, one of the keys to self-compassion is to look back at my own life’s river and love it for its kinks, bends and oxbow lakes. It won’t be a river that lays down the most direct route between its settlements. Or most efficiently moves something from one place to another. But it’s the river that has flowed for me.
The unrelenting power of rivers has carved the landscapes around us for millennia. I’m not about to think that I can stop them from doing the same in my life.
Finally, I turn to Eastern thought, where the flow of water and rivers is central to the Buddhist belief in the Dao - the philosophy of Flow:
“You can swim against the stream, but you’ll still be moved along by it, and all you’ll do is wear yourself out in futility.
But if you swim with the stream, the whole strength of the stream is yours.
But as it goes, all the past vanishes, and the future has not yet arrived. And there is only one place to be.
Which is here.
And now.”