I sat at the tea shop, fully immersed in my own pity.
I was tired (for no reason).
I was annoyed (at myself).
I had no plans but to sit and enjoy a cup of tea, maybe go home, take a nap.
My motivation for life was waning, I felt burnt out, incapable, frustrated with my own lack.
When randomly, two of my friends walked into the tea shop. We sat, chit-chatted, sipped our tea.
Then they asked—begged, twisted my arm—if I would please come with them to this beautiful lake, wedged in between mountains. Three times I said no. Three times they refused to relent.
“This will cheer you up.” “Come on, whats the point of living here if you don’t go see these things?” “Please, please, please Cayla-bug?!”
And so, with no afternoon plans, I went. We bumped up the winding dirt road in the old Subaru, my eyes skimmed the late summer green and gold that covered the staggering mountains.
The air was cool in the low-slung clouds. Everything seemed to glow with an internal light from the overcast sky. I sat in the backseat and fell in love with random chance.
When we arrived at our destination, the beach empty, the lake a flat facet of emerald, we crawled into the hatchback with snacks and tarot cards. I flirted with a gray-jay, and tried to convince him to eat crackers from my palm.
Then we did the thing we came to do, and also dreaded: we plunged into the chilling depths of that alpine lake.
I stripped down naked in broad daylight and sprinted into the icy water. My breath shot out of my lungs as I broke the surface. I dunked my head.
I was washed in the waters.