We All Float On

Meghan Gaucher
Jul 10, 2017 · 3 min read

It was just enough time to look passed the sun and the clouds and the trees and think, oh my god…this could end.

The sun was setting above the tree line as the light changed from pink to purple in front of my eyes like lips quivering in the cold. The light dimmed and streaks of clouds disseminated into the summer sky, the taste of the air like cotton candy melting onto the tongue, sweet and warm. It was comfortable and simple, picturesque even-just perfect for two young things to sit outside and enjoy the day’s end together.

There was a dent in my natural ability to enjoy the date. There was a floating feeling as I began to over-analyze the scenario. We sat for 20 minutes, holding hands. No words were spoken, except for the type of language that’s only conducted through the air in waves or deep in the belly and gut in vibrations - butterflies and nerves tangled with intention. Fresh and fiery.

I read into every moment, drifting from reality to fantasy, allowing my mind to expand the romance until it popped and broke into a billion tiny pieces of hopeless desperation for perminence. It was easy to read into each squeeze of the hand or brush of skin. It was easy to feel connected to someone, like a partner; the center of the moment was not one another, but something expansive, like the sky and how it held an exciting mystery about time, death, and love.

As I got more wrapped up in the romantic energy, another lock of energy fought it with bare knuckles and glaring eyes, clogging the path from my head to my heart. It was a tightening feeling, like hitting the earth after getting knocked down; paralyzing. I couldn’t enjoy a moment on a simple date.

The floating feeling sunk as I re-imagined a different story: how the moment could be just a gesture of friendship, or the other person wanting a simple connection with me, no different than the 8th or 9th date he had with another brod. Or, I could be a pon; someone to flee to after he lost someone else, a new toy to pass the time. I continued to doubt and deflate myself.


I was aware that my brain was dancing, it was getting a kick out of how tensed up I became, how concave my core began to curve. It was fear. It’s always fear: Oh my god, this could end.

The colors shifted in the sky and his grip on my hand got looser as he reached for a glass of wine, leaving my hand cool and unenamored.

I drank my wine too, my eyes welling up with salty tears. What a fool, what a drama queen. The most simple and romantic of moments could sweep me off my feet, only to land me back on the earth with self-questioning guilt: what the hell are you doing getting ahead of yourself?

It is a crazy, reckless romance with you.

You wrap me up tight and spin me around in all directions. A constant internal game of tug o’ war. Sinking or floating, though, I’m in, even if just for a moment.

It’ll take time to recognize that my biggest fear is myself. And this self is nothing more than a bird in a cage, something only I can let out. Each moment can be shattered with bad energy. Step behind the energy that’s pulling you, and let the rest go.

Life is too short to sink. Float on.

Living Outloud & as Brightly as possible🌻

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