Before my second child began to walk, my husband made a big career change. He spent the summer beginning PhD work and by time Fall classes began we had joined him, moving from the big city lifestyle that I thrived on to what seemed like the middle of nowhere. It was my task to set up housekeeping (once I found a house), put my two small children in daycare (once I found a good situation for them), and find a job. I had experience as a commercial office furniture sales person and once everything else was settled, I talked my way in to a job at the local Steel Case franchise holder ... the co-workers weren't too happy to see Miss Smartypants Citygirl all up in their biznez. I spent the first several months inside the store dusting the showroom and organizing catalogues and fabric samples. It sucked. At the end of the work day I did what mothers everywhere do ... I picked up my children, held them close and tried to intuit what their day looked like. My husband was working pretty near around the clock teaching classes and working on his research. It was so very different from what I thought things would be like when we first started our family. By time Spring rolled around everyone had settled in to our new routine ... except me. I remember telling my husband that I felt disoriented, as though someone had pushed me out of an airplane shouting instructions to me about how to operate the parachute as I fell.

My brother-in-law made arrangements for all of us to meet for a day of white water rafting. That day was one of the best days. It was good to be in the raft rolling along the river and then shooting through the rapids. Later I came to see white water rafting as an analogy for life. Everything seemed to get better after that day ... places opened up for our children in a Montessori school ... my husband's schedule shifted to accomodate picking our children up earlier in the day ... my employer moved me to an outside sales position where I could make some money ... . I guess I adjusted.

From this vantage point, many years later, I can see that day on the Guadalupe as not just a turning point for that three year stint in pursuit of a PhD, but also as a day when a new adventure was embraced. The life I could see receded, as I was able to roll with it, looking forward rather then back, and even laugh with anticipation at the sound of the approaching rapids.