The River is Waiting

Jane Borden said something that stopped me cold this week. She was talking about cult leaders and chaos, but what she said applies to every boardroom, every relationship, every moment when we feel the ground shifting beneath us.

"You should ride the waves of chaos, instead of trying to still the pool."

Here's what she meant, and here's why it matters more than you think.

The Strongman's Promise

Cult leaders understand something most of us miss. They know that people are terrified of uncertainty. They know that when the water gets choppy, we'll pay almost anything for someone to promise us calm seas.

The strongman steps forward with a simple offer: "Give me control, and I'll make the chaos stop."

It's a lie, of course. But it's a seductive lie because it plays to our deepest conditioning. Especially for men, who've been taught since childhood that emotional turbulence is weakness, that real strength means keeping the water still.

This is the trap. The belief that strength equals control. That leadership means never letting anyone see you sweat. That being a good partner, a good father, or a good human means maintaining perfect emotional equilibrium at all times.

But here's the thing about still water: it goes stagnant. Fast.

The Stagnant Pool

When we try to control our emotions, when we push them down and demand stillness, we're not creating peace. We're creating a breeding ground for everything we're trying to avoid.

The anger doesn't disappear when you refuse to acknowledge it. It ferments. The sadness doesn't evaporate when you tell it to go away. It calcifies. The fear doesn't vanish when you pretend it doesn't exist. It multiplies in the dark.

And meanwhile, the people around you, the people who matter most, they're not seeing your strength. They're seeing your disconnection. They're feeling the walls you've built to keep the chaos out, walls that also keep intimacy, joy, and genuine connection at bay.

This is what therapists see every day. Men who've been so conditioned to be the rock, the steady presence, the unflappable leader, that they've forgotten how to be human. They've traded their aliveness for the illusion of control.

But there's another way.

The River's Wisdom

Rivers don't fight their banks. They don't try to make the water stop flowing. They work with the landscape, carving new paths when needed, but always, always moving.

The river is powerful not because it's still, but because it's alive. Because it responds to what it encounters. Because it adapts.

This is what riding the waves of chaos looks like. It's not about eliminating the turbulence. It's about learning to navigate it skillfully.

When you feel anger rising, instead of shoving it down, you can acknowledge it. "I notice I have anger right now." Not "I am angry" but "I have anger." The distinction matters more than you might think.

When you separate yourself from your emotions, you create space. Space to observe. Space to choose. Space to respond rather than react.

The anger is information. It's telling you something about your boundaries, your values, your needs. When you silence it, you lose access to that information. When you become it, you lose access to choice.

But when you hold it, when you let it flow through you without becoming you, you can learn from it. You can use it.

The Body Knows

Your body is smarter than your mind when it comes to emotions. It knows things your rational brain hasn't figured out yet. It feels the tension before your mind recognizes the threat. It experiences the joy before your thoughts catch up to the moment.

When the chaos comes, and it will come, your body has a response. Your heart rate changes. Your breathing shifts. Your muscles tense or relax. These aren't signs of weakness. They're information.

The practice isn't to override these signals. It's to notice them. To describe them. To get curious about what your body is telling you.

"My chest feels tight. My jaw is clenched. My breathing is shallow."

This isn't self-indulgence. This is intelligence gathering. Your body is giving you real-time feedback about your internal state, feedback that can help you navigate whatever you're facing.

But you have to listen. And listening requires stillness, but not the kind of stillness that comes from suppression. The kind that comes from presence.

The Rock in the Stream

Picture this: a massive boulder in the middle of a rushing river. The water crashes against it, flows around it, sometimes even over it. But the rock remains.

This is the image that matters. Not the stagnant pool, but the rock in the stream. Grounded but not rigid. Present but not overwhelmed. Strong enough to withstand the current, wise enough not to fight it.

When you sit with your feelings like this, when you let them flow around you without being swept away by them, something remarkable happens. You discover that you're stronger than you thought. That you can handle more than you imagined. That the chaos you've been so afraid of isn't actually dangerous.

It's just energy. And energy can be channeled. Energy can be used. Energy can be transformed into something useful, something beautiful, something that serves not just you but everyone around you.

The Choice We Face

Every day, we face this choice. The pool or the river. Stagnation or flow. Control or presence.

The pool promises safety but delivers isolation. The river promises uncertainty but delivers aliveness.

The strongman, whether he's a cult leader or just the voice in your head that demands perfection, will always promise you the pool. He'll tell you that if you just try harder, control more, suppress better, you can finally have the peace you're seeking.

But peace isn't found in still water. It's found in learning to navigate the current. It's found in trusting your ability to bend without breaking. It's found in remembering that you are not your emotions, but you are not separate from them either.

You are the consciousness that experiences them. The awareness that can hold them. The presence that can learn from them.

The River is Waiting

This isn't a one-time decision. It's a practice. A daily, moment-by-moment choice to show up differently.

When the chaos comes, because it will come, you can remember: you have a choice. You can try to still the pool, or you can ride the wave.

You can name what you're feeling without becoming it. You can notice what's happening in your body without being overwhelmed by it. You can sit with the discomfort without being destroyed by it.

And in doing so, you model something powerful for everyone around you. You show them that it's possible to be both strong and sensitive. Both grounded and responsive. Both reliable and alive.

The water is going to flow regardless. The question is: will you flow with it, or will you exhaust yourself trying to make it stop?

The choice is yours. The river is waiting.