Alex, Jeannie’s praise was so radiant, I couldn’t help but read the piece for myself. And yes—that was me. Every detail. The spice-sketched notebook, the lamb stew with memory folded in, the dream of a small place where food tells the truth. I’ve longed for that kind of space since before I knew how to ask for it. Real food, made from scratch and memory, the kind that lingers decades later on the tongue. I’ve tasted it only in the English countryside—in those rare pubs where the cook still believes in slow, soulful nourishment, where a stew can carry someone home.
I’ve carried this dream since 1982. Forty-three years. All those years, the river of it dammed and silenced—by trauma, by compliance, by the slow drip of being told to stay small. That dam has broken. I didn’t break it out of anger. I melted it from within. I stood still long enough to feel the pressure build, and then I stepped aside and let the thaw come. Now my river runs wild through the canyon of my becoming—white water, alive, undeniable. I feel it rushing through places that used to hold only stillness. It speaks with the voice I once silenced in myself.
Tomorrow I enter the clinic, where someone else may try to chart my course, suggest detours or barricades—but the decision is already made. I’m not staying here. I’m not staying in this house, already marked for sale. I’m not staying in this town, where the walls remember more than I want to keep carrying. My river flows elsewhere now. And even if others try to dam it again, re-route it, contain it—I don’t let them. My water has found its power. It doesn’t need permission to flow.
I used to believe that longing was dangerous. That wanting more made me foolish or fragile. That moving on meant failure. Now I see clearly: some of us are rivers. We flood, we carve, we carry stories in our current. And we don’t belong in cul-de-sacs.
So I’m gathering my flavors, my grandmother’s lamb and apricots, my own recipes inked in the margins of memory. I’m ready for a place where I can cook what I love and be tasted in every bite. Not beige, not bland. Real. Deep. Spiced with truth.
You reminded me that rivers don’t wait for approval. They move because something calls them. And I remembered—I’ve always been moving. Even in the stillest places. Even when the current seemed quiet.
Now, I let it carry me. Toward whatever is next. Toward wherever I already belong.
Hi Jay - thank you for everything that you shared here. It was beautiful and touching. Water always ends up flowing where it wants to flow. Even when a dam is built, water ends up finding ways of flowing to places we least expect. I love that your water has found its power. It no longer needs permission to flow, it is its permission!
By the time you are reading my comment, you may have already entered the clinic or you are about to, so I hope you know that my thoughts are with you on your new journey! I'm sending you all the positive energy I can muster in this little comment!!! And if someone tries to dam up the water, just let me know - I've always wanted to try a little dynamite :) We can unclog those waters and get them flowing again.
I'm here as a support, a listening ear, a cheerleader, and so much more for you. 🩵
I refuse to be "beige food for beige people". I lived in the suburban cul de sac where all the homes look the same on the outside and had the same fights happening on the inside.
I want flavor and color and texture in my life, even if it means discomfort. The diversity and the eccentricity and the variety in my world is what makes things ALIVE.
YES! I so agree. Diversity and the eccentricity and the variety... SO THERE with you. I loved talking with this chef. She was amazing. She reminded me of you in so many ways :)
Alex, I love this essay! This month, I've really enjoyed the series where you've conversed with strangers. The river metaphor is so fitting -- and runs deeper than the "follow-your-dream" mantra. I love when you say, "Some of us aren't meant to follow maps, we're meant to make them."
When I was a pre-veterinary student, I was initially afraid to take the risk to become an English major. My freshman English professor kept trying to persuade me to just do this, and finally I did. And I never regretted it. Things worked out vocationally for me, things my former self would have deemed impossible -- had I not tried. Now I'm struggling with a relatively new identity: being a professional artist. It is scary to me, but so worth the risk.
Thank you, Beth! This series has been fun. It pushed me out of my comfort zone a bit. As a researcher, I certainly talk to people all the time, but not on the train... willingly! HA. But it was fun and I'm going to do it more often :)
What a wonderful story about your pre-vet, English major self. And now look at you :) And things will be the same with your professional artist self. I love the art your produce and I'm so excited to see this next stage of your journey and celebrate you along the way! It is scary, but it is WORTH it!
Thank you so much for your kind words, Alex. I so appreciate them. Regarding talking to people on the train, you went out of your comfort zone, and the results have paid off!
First, what is the manuscript you are working on? I would love to hear more about a book you are writing!
Second, the metaphor of the river seems to be serendipitous in my life the last two weeks. Ben and I traveled last week to Tennessee to visit another couple we are friends with, and we went hiking through the Smoky Mountains a couple of times--once, alongside the Little River, which includes rocky rapids in some places. We also visited the Tuckaleechee Caverns, and our tour guide pointed out all the places where water has "found a way" through the deep crevices of the underground. "Water is one of the most powerful elements," she said. "It always finds a way."
So I'm struck today by your reference to rivers and how they do not consider their feral nature. They simply flow where they flow, and the currents often take directions uncharted and unforeseen. Maybe I am like the river, too, or at least can learn from its life lessons about resistance, about change, about openness and fluidity.
It's terrifying but also exhilarating.
Also, may I just conclude that you are a fantastic essayist, Alex? Really. I read prolifically. You are a great writer.
That sounds like such a lovely time. I'm really quite jealous! "Water is one of the most powerful elements," she said. "It always finds a way." It does. I always love to say, too, water finds the path of least resistance. It goes where it wants. Haha!
It can be a little terrifying. I share that sentiment, a little. But yes, exhilarating too. I really love this idea of openness and fluidity, and I find something delightfully delicious about that. Sometimes I will sit and watch rivers for a bit, and I have a lot of videos on my phone of rivers. I don't know why, to be honest. There is something very mesmerizing about the flow of the river.
Aww, that means a lot to me! I really appreciate that, especially coming from you! I have always felt that you are truly an amazing essayist, and so for you to say that really makes me sit up and say... WHAT?!?!
Last year I really felt like I was a COLD writer. A seriously cold writer.
I’ve seen your writing expand, Alex, in the last six months. There’s something that’s shifted in how you share. I will say that. It’s the way you take us into the moment you’re in, and then you expand that to make universal meaning. That’s the magic of your storytelling.
This thought reached out and grabbed me, stopped me dead to reread it a few times:
“We worship at the altar of being reasonable as if it were a virtue instead of just one option among many.”
It’s sad that we are taught to conform, to remain on the bell curve. I like your friend’s philosophy and she’s young enough to still dive into her dream.
While I flow like the river in so many ways, I also look ahead every once in awhile to imagine if anything major is coming (a waterfall or a dam come to mind first off). I hit a dam in 6/2020 and have been twirling in my own little eddy.
I’m not too concerned tho, since water always wins. I have reminded myself of that all my life, water always wins. The slow series of singular drips from a cranky old faucet out in a field will wear a divot in the stone below. The river might hit a large stone, and swirl to move around it, yet it will continue to move forward.
You've truly got this Alexander. The questions you ask, the answers you seek are all right here within the thoughts you share with us. Keep going.
Alex... Again... this is so potent and beautiful. Thank you for it. In my 20s I charted my own course to be an artist after working so hard to gain a master degree in social work. In my mid-70s I'm longing for that younger woman version of me to jump in here again.
The lines that stood out for me in your writing:
These two are how I lived much of my life in many ways:
"But I don't want a backup plan. I want to try the thing I actually care about."
There's something revolutionary about people who refuse to shrink their dreams to fit other people's comfort levels.
And now I'm facing a new turning point and these are wonderful reminders. Thanks.
Some things can't be rushed. But that doesn't mean you wait forever to start cooking.
The question isn't whether you're ready to move. The question is whether you're brave enough to stop pretending you're not already in motion.
Thank you, Linda. I so appreciate you. And I really appreciate your new paid support of my Substack. I am so grateful for you! Thank you for joining, and I cannot wait for you to see what is in store next month! :)
I appreciate your words about this essay. This one stayed with me the longest for a few reasons, some of which you shared here. I have no doubt that this version of you is still guiding your actions today, already in motion :)
I agree - I think all of us are already in motion we simply fail to recognize it and treat our daily actions with the gravity that they deserve. And because of that, we don't allow them to add up with the momentum that carries us to the change we deserve. Last year, pre-accident, no way did I think I would have a substack that even 100 would read. But daily actions create weekly articles, and those weekly articles create a base of people that actually enjoy my writing. And that reinforces what I, myself, am passionate about. And if I didn't tune into my daily movement, I wouldn't have been able to see and sustain that.
If we pay attention to our motion, we see the results sooner. 🩵
daily actions create weekly articles, and those weekly articles create a base of people that actually enjoy my writing. And that reinforces what I, myself, am passionate about. And if I didn't tune into my daily movement, I wouldn't have been able to see and sustain that.
If we pay attention to our motion, we see the results sooner. 🩵
Thank you, Anne. Rivers indeed meander. I appreciate you following through this article to the end. Thank you for reading and for sharing. That means a lot to me!
Alex, what a beautiful, beautiful piece and incredible conversation, I can’t wait to read the rest of the series. I was nodding to all your own realizations in response to your ‘river woman chef’ friend and yes, plagued by same doubts and hesitation to lean into my own wisdom. This: ‘But rivers don't care about disappointing the landscape. They flow toward what calls them, reshaping everything in their path.’ Let’s flow, together, all of us, welcome the reshaping.
Alex! I have read this three times already and it keeps speaking to me! This: "If I let my own current carry me toward whatever's calling, even if I can't see the destination from here?" It's a terrifying thought, to risk the failure, the unknown, the emotional costs. But yet...
Thank you, Friend! I'll be reading this more, for courage, and resolve to be less beige!
I've enjoyed this series very much. The pieces have all been so thought provoking, and this one is no exception. Though I'm newer to your Substack, I so agree with everything Jeannie said about your writing. You're a gifted writer.
I'm in awe of that woman you spoke with on the train. I don't think all of us are up to, or even meant to be rivers. Some of us are cul-de-sac people. I do love the metaphor though. And I love your suggestion that we might all benefit by trusting our own current rather than everyone else's map of how things should go.
Trusting our own current is such a simple concept and yet such a hard one to actually implement. Life pulls us in many directions, but sometimes we need to allow ourselves to do the pulling. Reminds me of that saying, go with the flow.
Thank you for another inspiring read. I appreciate you.
Alex, What a great encounter! What a great metaphor. I'm reminded that in astrology the Saturn Return comes around the age of 30. It's the time to re-evaluate, reject what doesn't work, and take the leap into what you truly want. But we don't have to wait for a Saturn return. We can do it any day of the week.
Alex, Jeannie’s praise was so radiant, I couldn’t help but read the piece for myself. And yes—that was me. Every detail. The spice-sketched notebook, the lamb stew with memory folded in, the dream of a small place where food tells the truth. I’ve longed for that kind of space since before I knew how to ask for it. Real food, made from scratch and memory, the kind that lingers decades later on the tongue. I’ve tasted it only in the English countryside—in those rare pubs where the cook still believes in slow, soulful nourishment, where a stew can carry someone home.
I’ve carried this dream since 1982. Forty-three years. All those years, the river of it dammed and silenced—by trauma, by compliance, by the slow drip of being told to stay small. That dam has broken. I didn’t break it out of anger. I melted it from within. I stood still long enough to feel the pressure build, and then I stepped aside and let the thaw come. Now my river runs wild through the canyon of my becoming—white water, alive, undeniable. I feel it rushing through places that used to hold only stillness. It speaks with the voice I once silenced in myself.
Tomorrow I enter the clinic, where someone else may try to chart my course, suggest detours or barricades—but the decision is already made. I’m not staying here. I’m not staying in this house, already marked for sale. I’m not staying in this town, where the walls remember more than I want to keep carrying. My river flows elsewhere now. And even if others try to dam it again, re-route it, contain it—I don’t let them. My water has found its power. It doesn’t need permission to flow.
I used to believe that longing was dangerous. That wanting more made me foolish or fragile. That moving on meant failure. Now I see clearly: some of us are rivers. We flood, we carve, we carry stories in our current. And we don’t belong in cul-de-sacs.
So I’m gathering my flavors, my grandmother’s lamb and apricots, my own recipes inked in the margins of memory. I’m ready for a place where I can cook what I love and be tasted in every bite. Not beige, not bland. Real. Deep. Spiced with truth.
You reminded me that rivers don’t wait for approval. They move because something calls them. And I remembered—I’ve always been moving. Even in the stillest places. Even when the current seemed quiet.
Now, I let it carry me. Toward whatever is next. Toward wherever I already belong.
Hi Jay - thank you for everything that you shared here. It was beautiful and touching. Water always ends up flowing where it wants to flow. Even when a dam is built, water ends up finding ways of flowing to places we least expect. I love that your water has found its power. It no longer needs permission to flow, it is its permission!
By the time you are reading my comment, you may have already entered the clinic or you are about to, so I hope you know that my thoughts are with you on your new journey! I'm sending you all the positive energy I can muster in this little comment!!! And if someone tries to dam up the water, just let me know - I've always wanted to try a little dynamite :) We can unclog those waters and get them flowing again.
I'm here as a support, a listening ear, a cheerleader, and so much more for you. 🩵
Have a fabulous journey wherever it takes you. I loved your share here. We're never "too old" to follow the river!
Thank you Linda. I’ll do my very best.
I refuse to be "beige food for beige people". I lived in the suburban cul de sac where all the homes look the same on the outside and had the same fights happening on the inside.
I want flavor and color and texture in my life, even if it means discomfort. The diversity and the eccentricity and the variety in my world is what makes things ALIVE.
YES! I so agree. Diversity and the eccentricity and the variety... SO THERE with you. I loved talking with this chef. She was amazing. She reminded me of you in so many ways :)
she reminded me of me as I was reading it!
Alex, I love this essay! This month, I've really enjoyed the series where you've conversed with strangers. The river metaphor is so fitting -- and runs deeper than the "follow-your-dream" mantra. I love when you say, "Some of us aren't meant to follow maps, we're meant to make them."
When I was a pre-veterinary student, I was initially afraid to take the risk to become an English major. My freshman English professor kept trying to persuade me to just do this, and finally I did. And I never regretted it. Things worked out vocationally for me, things my former self would have deemed impossible -- had I not tried. Now I'm struggling with a relatively new identity: being a professional artist. It is scary to me, but so worth the risk.
Thank you, Beth! This series has been fun. It pushed me out of my comfort zone a bit. As a researcher, I certainly talk to people all the time, but not on the train... willingly! HA. But it was fun and I'm going to do it more often :)
What a wonderful story about your pre-vet, English major self. And now look at you :) And things will be the same with your professional artist self. I love the art your produce and I'm so excited to see this next stage of your journey and celebrate you along the way! It is scary, but it is WORTH it!
Thank you so much for your kind words, Alex. I so appreciate them. Regarding talking to people on the train, you went out of your comfort zone, and the results have paid off!
Alex,
First, what is the manuscript you are working on? I would love to hear more about a book you are writing!
Second, the metaphor of the river seems to be serendipitous in my life the last two weeks. Ben and I traveled last week to Tennessee to visit another couple we are friends with, and we went hiking through the Smoky Mountains a couple of times--once, alongside the Little River, which includes rocky rapids in some places. We also visited the Tuckaleechee Caverns, and our tour guide pointed out all the places where water has "found a way" through the deep crevices of the underground. "Water is one of the most powerful elements," she said. "It always finds a way."
So I'm struck today by your reference to rivers and how they do not consider their feral nature. They simply flow where they flow, and the currents often take directions uncharted and unforeseen. Maybe I am like the river, too, or at least can learn from its life lessons about resistance, about change, about openness and fluidity.
It's terrifying but also exhilarating.
Also, may I just conclude that you are a fantastic essayist, Alex? Really. I read prolifically. You are a great writer.
Oh, friend, I have a couple. 😂
That sounds like such a lovely time. I'm really quite jealous! "Water is one of the most powerful elements," she said. "It always finds a way." It does. I always love to say, too, water finds the path of least resistance. It goes where it wants. Haha!
It can be a little terrifying. I share that sentiment, a little. But yes, exhilarating too. I really love this idea of openness and fluidity, and I find something delightfully delicious about that. Sometimes I will sit and watch rivers for a bit, and I have a lot of videos on my phone of rivers. I don't know why, to be honest. There is something very mesmerizing about the flow of the river.
Aww, that means a lot to me! I really appreciate that, especially coming from you! I have always felt that you are truly an amazing essayist, and so for you to say that really makes me sit up and say... WHAT?!?!
Last year I really felt like I was a COLD writer. A seriously cold writer.
I’ve seen your writing expand, Alex, in the last six months. There’s something that’s shifted in how you share. I will say that. It’s the way you take us into the moment you’re in, and then you expand that to make universal meaning. That’s the magic of your storytelling.
This thought reached out and grabbed me, stopped me dead to reread it a few times:
“We worship at the altar of being reasonable as if it were a virtue instead of just one option among many.”
It’s sad that we are taught to conform, to remain on the bell curve. I like your friend’s philosophy and she’s young enough to still dive into her dream.
While I flow like the river in so many ways, I also look ahead every once in awhile to imagine if anything major is coming (a waterfall or a dam come to mind first off). I hit a dam in 6/2020 and have been twirling in my own little eddy.
I’m not too concerned tho, since water always wins. I have reminded myself of that all my life, water always wins. The slow series of singular drips from a cranky old faucet out in a field will wear a divot in the stone below. The river might hit a large stone, and swirl to move around it, yet it will continue to move forward.
You've truly got this Alexander. The questions you ask, the answers you seek are all right here within the thoughts you share with us. Keep going.
Alex... Again... this is so potent and beautiful. Thank you for it. In my 20s I charted my own course to be an artist after working so hard to gain a master degree in social work. In my mid-70s I'm longing for that younger woman version of me to jump in here again.
The lines that stood out for me in your writing:
These two are how I lived much of my life in many ways:
"But I don't want a backup plan. I want to try the thing I actually care about."
There's something revolutionary about people who refuse to shrink their dreams to fit other people's comfort levels.
And now I'm facing a new turning point and these are wonderful reminders. Thanks.
Some things can't be rushed. But that doesn't mean you wait forever to start cooking.
The question isn't whether you're ready to move. The question is whether you're brave enough to stop pretending you're not already in motion.
Thank you, Linda. I so appreciate you. And I really appreciate your new paid support of my Substack. I am so grateful for you! Thank you for joining, and I cannot wait for you to see what is in store next month! :)
I appreciate your words about this essay. This one stayed with me the longest for a few reasons, some of which you shared here. I have no doubt that this version of you is still guiding your actions today, already in motion :)
I agree - I think all of us are already in motion we simply fail to recognize it and treat our daily actions with the gravity that they deserve. And because of that, we don't allow them to add up with the momentum that carries us to the change we deserve. Last year, pre-accident, no way did I think I would have a substack that even 100 would read. But daily actions create weekly articles, and those weekly articles create a base of people that actually enjoy my writing. And that reinforces what I, myself, am passionate about. And if I didn't tune into my daily movement, I wouldn't have been able to see and sustain that.
If we pay attention to our motion, we see the results sooner. 🩵
daily actions create weekly articles, and those weekly articles create a base of people that actually enjoy my writing. And that reinforces what I, myself, am passionate about. And if I didn't tune into my daily movement, I wouldn't have been able to see and sustain that.
If we pay attention to our motion, we see the results sooner. 🩵
YES- such good reminders... thanks...
Rivers sometimes meander - when they get towards the sea/ocean.
I enjoyed how this article goes where it needs and deepens itself with meaning.
Thank you. Anne
Thank you, Anne. Rivers indeed meander. I appreciate you following through this article to the end. Thank you for reading and for sharing. That means a lot to me!
Terrific piece! It speaks to the wanderlust and curiosity that resides in my soul. And that I've often acted upon!
You might be a great guest for my podcast, Bump In The Road ( BumpInTheRoad.us and BumpInTheRoad.Substack.com) would you be open to just chatting? Talk@BumpInTheRoad.us
Hi Pat. Thank you for reading. I so appreciate you! Sure, I'd love to chat. Sounds like a lot of fun to me 🩵
I am a river not a cul -de-sac …… brilliant and as always perfect timing!!!
Thank you, Penelope! I'm so glad you are here and this one landed for you at the perfect time. 🩵
♥️!
Thank you Nancy for reading! 🩵
Alex, what a beautiful, beautiful piece and incredible conversation, I can’t wait to read the rest of the series. I was nodding to all your own realizations in response to your ‘river woman chef’ friend and yes, plagued by same doubts and hesitation to lean into my own wisdom. This: ‘But rivers don't care about disappointing the landscape. They flow toward what calls them, reshaping everything in their path.’ Let’s flow, together, all of us, welcome the reshaping.
Alex! I have read this three times already and it keeps speaking to me! This: "If I let my own current carry me toward whatever's calling, even if I can't see the destination from here?" It's a terrifying thought, to risk the failure, the unknown, the emotional costs. But yet...
Thank you, Friend! I'll be reading this more, for courage, and resolve to be less beige!
Hi Alex,
I've enjoyed this series very much. The pieces have all been so thought provoking, and this one is no exception. Though I'm newer to your Substack, I so agree with everything Jeannie said about your writing. You're a gifted writer.
I'm in awe of that woman you spoke with on the train. I don't think all of us are up to, or even meant to be rivers. Some of us are cul-de-sac people. I do love the metaphor though. And I love your suggestion that we might all benefit by trusting our own current rather than everyone else's map of how things should go.
Trusting our own current is such a simple concept and yet such a hard one to actually implement. Life pulls us in many directions, but sometimes we need to allow ourselves to do the pulling. Reminds me of that saying, go with the flow.
Thank you for another inspiring read. I appreciate you.
Alex, What a great encounter! What a great metaphor. I'm reminded that in astrology the Saturn Return comes around the age of 30. It's the time to re-evaluate, reject what doesn't work, and take the leap into what you truly want. But we don't have to wait for a Saturn return. We can do it any day of the week.
Watershed moments.
Rivers dare, try, settle not.
Rush on their own terms.