Shortly after my dad passed away, my roommate, Jan and her friend invited me to go rafting on the Snake River just outside Jackson, Wyoming. I'm not sure why I went, I am terrified of water. Heck, I even flunked swimming lessons when I was child because of my fear of drowning. I put on a brave face the whole trip, even as I got into the raft. As I sat down, I thought to myself "If I can survive an almost rollover on the freeway*,I can go down these rapids." During the whole ride down the river, my hands were firmly planted to the raft. I don't think I lifted a finger when the raft went around the bend for picture taking. When the raft turned toward the river bank, I was more than happy to see it. There is nothing like feeling solid ground under my feet.
About a year later, I had a different roommate. June had also been rafting down the Snake River. Instead of uneventful trip like I had, she was actually thrown off the raft. After hearing her story, I was glad I had heard it after I made my trip. Because there would have been no way that I would gone rafting in any rapids after hearing that story. Going down the rapids isn't for wimps, especially one who has a fear of drowning. I can't believe I did that.
*a month after my dad passed, I was driving to Idaho for the weekend, when I noticed my car had drifted out of the left lane, I over corrected and left the right lane facing oncoming traffic (which was hardly any). A fence stopped my car from rolling over.
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