In all my years wading in water,
I never learned to dive right in.
Fears of falling head-on to the unknown,
Would I get hurt or lose myself?
I held back and stayed safe.
So I'd step in slowly, meticulously,
Not to lose my footing or my faith.
Call me careful, call me boring,
I always stayed safe in my own arms.
After two decades of wading,
I grew into a woman, and had to learn
That sometimes you get pushed in,
Whether you want to or not.
You'll never know when or how,
but it'll hit you from behind, and you'll fall.
And at that moment, you learn to survive.
And you are forced to dive in,
You've got to do everything you can,
To calm yourself, and fall, and dive.
Diving still isn't any fun for me.
But I was pushed, one time.
And now I know how to dive.