FLOW
In Recreation Therapy, flow is a state of mind where you are so immersed in an activity that you lose track of time, self-consciousness fades, and you feel a deep sense of purpose and enjoyment.
On June 21, 2025, Tyler, a twenty-something, clean-cut, capable-looking young man walked into the shop before 8 a.m. He seemed to be a man on a mission and announced that he would like to take the full-day trip. He was so confident and seemed so capable that nobody questioned his request. We simply signed him up, gave him a map, directed him to life jackets, paddles, the put-in location, and take-out instructions.
Tyler was the first person to hit the river that morning.
I saw the entire interaction with staff and did not sense any hesitation in him. Instead, I began to daydream about how I would enjoy this early-morning paddle trip of solitude. I imagined he would see a variety of wildlife being out first and this early. I thought to myself that he would probably fish the whole way down to the take-out. If it were me, I would use up the time taking photos and looking for river glass on the beaches.
The flow of my daydream ended pretty quickly with the noise of a busy Saturday.
It was the first real heat wave of the summer, with temperatures in the nineties, and it was Women’s Weekend! We were busy all day. Before I realized how late it was, staff at Rothrock’s Mill called to inform me that one boat and one person had missed the last pickup and grace period.
We agreed that the bus would leave with the guests who made it back on time, and one staff person would drive down to Rothrock’s in a pickup truck, look for the boater, and wait.
It was getting close to 8 p.m. when a voice message was transcribed to my cell phone.
“Uh hi. Uh, I… uh did a 14-mile trip with you guys and left about 8 a.m. I was told there was going to be a bus coming, but nothing. Uh, I am staying. I, uh, have been stuck here at what they call the Blue Chapel Church or whatever they call it for like 2 hours. My car is at you guys’ facility. I can’t get anyone to answer me. There’s no signal out here. So, I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know what to do.”
My initial reaction to the voicemail was shock and disbelief. No way was this guy at Blue River Chapel. He surely did not miss the Rothrock’s Mill take-out with an overshot of 11 miles. He must have parked somewhere and gone on his own. He must be lost and just looking for anyone to pick him up.
My second reaction was irritation. He must be drunk. I am hot, tired, and I don’t want to go on a 30-minute drive to pick up this guy alone.
I called him back and confirmed his location. To my surprise, he was nice and sounded sober. I explained it might take me about 40 minutes to get to him.
During the drive in the cool AC of my truck, my annoyance was processed into dread. I wondered if this guy was going to be angry that he had just paddled 25 miles, waited two hours for a bus, and now had to wait another 40 minutes on the side of the road. I wondered how we screwed this up. This could be awkward.
As soon as I saw Tyler, my mind went immediately back to that early-morning daydream.
I spoke first and apologized for his wait. It was a little awkward, but I did not sense any anger. He helped me load the boat, and we began to chat.
Tyler explained that he was a first-time kayaker.
I felt sick, and apologized again.
He said, “Don’t be sorry. I had a blast. I have always wanted to try this.”
He added that he and friends had planned this trip for a while and they had all “bailed on him that morning.”
The conversation never lagged. I showed him the Ohio River and explained that if he had just stuck with it, he would have rolled out onto the Ohio and into Kentucky.
At one point, Tyler said,
“Some of those rapids were a little sketchy.”
Tyler’s trip confirmed to me that I’m right where I belong. I am so blessed to be immersed in this business. I love providing others access to the equipment, the information, and the opportunity to just FLOW.
It’s not only the activity that brings joy, but the anticipation of the event and the memories that last a lifetime.
-Sherri
