First Excerpt! Wild, Willing, Wise

A story about a literal big fucking river

Welcome to 2024, everyone!

Today I’m sharing a few things:

1- Anti-Resolution Challenge round up and review

2 - The first excerpt of my upcoming book, Wild, Willing, and Wise: When to Paddle, When to Rest, and When to Jump Naked into the River of Life.

3 - Never before seen photos of me as a river rat that go with my Wild, Willing, Wise story of rafting the Grand Canyon…

Let’s dive in!

On the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, learning how to row

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Anti-Resolution Challenge closing

What a joy it was to share the Anti-Resolution Challenge with you. You’ll have access to the 7 days of teaching through the seven emails I sent out from December 28 - January 3; but I’ll be un-publishing the web version of the Challenge on Monday, January 8th. This was a limited, special offering for current subscribers. Again, this means you can still access the teaching by searching for Anti-Resolution Challenge in your inbox to get all seven days; but you will not be able to comment or access the pages online after January 8th.

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Wild, Willing, and Wise

Here is the cover of my upcoming book! It’s still 7 months until it is published, but I’m prepping for its birth, and wanted to share a taste with you…

Isn’t she pretty?!?

The publication date for Wild, Willing, and Wise is July 30, 2024 and I’m planning on a book tour in August, September, and early October.

Have a location you’d like to suggest for the upcoming tour or would you like to host a book talk? Reach out to Sarina at sarina@warriorgoddess.com.

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Excerpt from Wild, Willing, and Wise: Chapter 1

A story about a literal big fucking river

“Wait a minute, are those 18 foot waves?” I asked, turning to my then-husband with the words “WHAT??!??” Screaming from my eyes.

“Yup,” he affirmed, casually smiling at me. He was showing me a video of what I had unknowingly signed myself up for.

Holy fuck.

Picture this: It’s the summer of 2005 and I’m about to raft the Grand Canyon with my partner, his father, and a small group of long-time river rats (as they call themselves.)

To date I had been on exactly one trip down a river, when I enthusiastically agreed to join my partner to raft the Arkansas River in Colorado. Mid-rapids, however, we discovered that his old blow-up kayak had a hole.

I was not impressed.

We were we are about to spend two weeks on a river that can eat boats and occupants in a single bite.

I put the huge waves out of my head. I’m with two experts, what could go wrong?

- Queue laughter track from the Universe here. -

Before the journey we spent days planning meals, gathering needed equipment, and studying the Grand Canyon river map, which pinpoints and describes each rapid and helpfully offers suggestions on how to survive.

We entered the river at Lee’s Ferry. For the first few days I was soothed by the wild beauty and sweet ease of being on the river. Smooth water carried us quietly for miles. I watched dragonflies kissing their own reflections and spent hours looking for faces in the cliffs and clouds. The most work I did was getting sunburnt.

Even with so many experts and a map to tell us of upcoming rapids we were lulled by the soft gentle lapping.

Then the first disaster happened.

One moment I was contentedly watching the ripples my paddle made in the water and the next I was wondering about the poor person making such awful, dying cat noises as they struggled to breathe.

It took me a few seconds before I realized that that person was me. As I’m slammed back into my body, water churns over and around me, so cold I can’t get air into my lungs. Each short, scared inhale sounded like a teapot whistling next to the dying cat, each exhale was a whimper. The life vest kept my head above water, but I was moving so fast and I was so tiny in this vast flow that I couldn’t make sense of anything.

And then I remembered about my husband and father-in-law. Were they okay?

I panicked anew.

I managed to turn around and see the distant shape of my husband’s head and shoulders, his arm pointing right. Of course. Swim to shore.

I angled my body towards the cliffs and start edkicking and flapping my arms, clawing my way into shallower waters.

Finally I reached solid, blessed land.

Later, when the shaking stopped and we were finally warm and dry around a fire, we reviewed what happened.

It was a tiny rapid, a short stretch of three-to-five-foot waves. The last wave playfully slapped the back edge of the boat with just enough force to send us all flying into the air like birds and then plummeting into the water like rocks.

This was day three of our journey. There were eleven days to go, with many more rapids and the looming presence of Lava.

Lava is the name of the grandmama of all rapids on this section of the Colorado River. It was she on the video my partner showed me before our journey, the one with the 18-foot waves. Even the seasoned, grey-haired river rats talk about her in an almost worshipful whisper.

I spend the next 10 days learning how to read the river. Gone was the previous casual confidence. We consulted the maps every evening to see what was coming. We pulled the boats out of the water and scouted before almost every rapid.

We knew that even with all our study and scouting that the river is mysterious, powerful, and in charge. All we could do is be as prepared as possible, ready for the unexpected.

Lava Day

By Lava day I was stronger, more confident on the river, and had developed a deep respect for who was actually in charge here.

By now I knew several things:

1. The only way out is through

2. Being an expert is helpful, but it doesn’t mean you won’t capsize.

3. Take it slow, look where you are going, make a plan. Scout.

4. Surrender to the flow

5. We are all in this together.

6. Good guides make everything better.

After Lava I added another one to my list: Don’t jump out of the boat when the going gets tough.

My eyes had grown keener as I started to understand the flow and dance of water, rock, elevation, and canyon width. The biggest rapids happen when elevation drops quickly or the canyon walls narrow. The flow in front of big rocks can pin your boat with thousands of pounds of water; the watery holes after big rocks can suck your boat under without a thought. The waves can shift direction so quickly that going too slow through a rapid, going too fast, or getting turned at an angle can all mean that in a fraction of a second you are in the water instead of in the boat. Eddies and whirlpools and hidden rocks can snag or slow or sink your vessel. Sometimes there is only one path through a rapid, other times there are multiple choices of how to navigate.

We had studied the now tattered map and knew that the way through Lava was along the right side. As we approached, the roar of water made talking, or even thinking, impossible. We rowed to shore, pulled the boats out of the water, and hiked up the steep rocks so we could see the rapid clearly from above.

This part of the Colorado River is about 60 feet across, and the elevation drops steeply. In the middle of the river is a 20-foot rock with a 15-foot drop behind it and a whirlpool big enough to easily disappear a school bus. To the left of the school-bus-disappearing rock are so many rocks and rapids, which renders this side impassible.

To the right is one thin possibility which demands hitting the entrance into the rapid at just the right place, staying between a series of rock sentinels, and then halfway through paddling hard on the left to keep from getting pulled into the big-rock whirlpool.

The final ten or so waves are those mother mountain ones, and the only way through is to keep paddling up the wave so you have enough force to break through the top and ride the crest down to the next one.

As our boat watched from our scouting spot, the first boat in our group hit a wave and flipped, scattering people and oars like marbles bouncing off a table. I looked around and wondered if there was any way I could climb out of the canyon instead of going through Lava.

But that opportunity passed miles ago. The only way out was through.

We had rehearsed the pathway so many times: staring at the map, reviewing our plan over meals, and now while staring down at Lava from a distance. But as we entered the wide mouth of Lava I realized NOTHING could have prepared me for this reality.

Entering the mother of all rapids, Lava. I’m the tiny figure front left.

The sound and spray of rushing water made it feel like we were surrounded by three Niagara Falls turned at fantastical angles. It was a roller coaster without rails.

Paddle right! Stop! Paddle left hard!

About halfway through Lava I was convinced we were going over. We were airborne for so long, water pounding everywhere, that my body dove for the side, terrified of getting pinned under the boat.

Out of the corner of his eye my partner’s father saw my diving shape, grabbed my ankle, and pulled me back into the boat.

“It’s okay,” he shouted. “Keep rowing!”

I kept rowing.

And then we were through the last big wave, laughing and howling and high-fiving our oars.

WE DID IT!

Three seconds later we were paddling hard on the left to help the crew that flipped before us, and to be ready for the next boat to traverse Lava.

And the river kept flowing.

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I’d love to hear how you feel on the river of life!

Do you feel:

___ centered in your being and enjoying the ride

___ huddled on the shore unwilling to take part

___ frantically trying to save everyone else in the water (except yourself)

___ flailing in the choppy, rocky waters and feeling like you are drowning

Or all of the above, you multi-dimensional being?!?

Share in the chat below.

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Paid subscribers: I’ll be sending out a more detailed “where are you on the river of life” survey and “lessons from the river” wisdom this weekend.

Hugs, and keep on paddling, dear ones. Or put down your oars and rest and let the river carry you for a while. Or maybe it is time to jump naked into something, and release your wild joy?