I really don't like to get wet. I'll melt—or, more likely, I'll freeze.
Showers are the exception.
But swimming? Not a good sport for me, because I'll have to get in the water. Ewwww.
Never mind that after I'm in, as long as I'm not freezing, I have a great time. But it's that initial dunking. Even when you can lure me over the edge, I think, "Oh no, what am I doing?"
It's the same thing with riding my bike in the rain—and we are now in the season of rain, and it is not a short season. I look out the window at the gray and the mist and the water falling, and I think, "Oh, no," and I think, "This is going to be miserable. Mizzzerrrable."
Then I get on my bike, and I get wet, and it isn't so bad. Granted, it's only a couple of miles and I can change into dry clothes at the end, but I start to have fun. Why not ride around in the rain.
(I admit that when I'm sitting on my sofa, this sounds insane.)
While I was riding in the rain through the ravine today, I thought about this general reluctance, and I realized that it's all about taking the plunge. And isn't water a great metaphor for the unknown? I've spent decades learning how to dive in, convincing myself that it's okay, and it's worth a little rain or that initial chill when you wade into the water.
And I'll try to take the plunge in my poetry more often, both in the writing and in the sending out. While I can send magazine submissions, I approach sending out manuscripts with the same trepidation I have for swimming. But I've promised myself that I'll send this manuscript out and out and out. I will swim in it.
How about you? Any reluctance, any metaphors?