Where Do You Want to Go?
Three days before Megan and Will’s wedding, the bride invited ladies to celebrate the way she loves best: on the water.
She and her sister swung by to pick up my sister and me. An hour-ish from our destination, we began our scavenger hunt across Boise. We stopped to borrow kayaks and a well-loved griddle before making the most critical stop for a few roadside pies. By the time we reached the Payette River, the bed of the truck overflowed with everything we could need for a proper bachelorette.
As the first to arrive at the parking lot we fired up the grill, set out the food, and drinks were passed around. One by one the rest of the ladies, those who spoke the language of rivers with ease, pulled up with their gear and Hawaiian shirts ready to celebrate Megan.
The sun began its slow descent signaling that it was time to put on our PFDs (personal floatation devices, not life jackets) over our themed costumes and push off into the current. There was laughter, encouragement, and the kind of easy generosity that asks nothing of you except to show up. Each time I exclaimed “I’m scared”, it was met with the reassurance of “you got this”. There was no pressure to perform—only the quiet confidence that we'd all make it through together.
About 35 minutes into the float, ahead of a class III rapid called Mike’s Hole, a necessary safety briefing was given by one of the experienced paddlers with an offhanded piece of advice—
"Don't look where you don't want to go."
At first, it sounded like simple kayaking instruction. If you fixate on the hole or rock you're trying to avoid, you'll often paddle straight toward it. Your body follows your eyes. Instead, keep your focus on the clear path ahead, and your hands naturally steer you there.
I've been thinking about that lesson ever since. It turns out it has very little to do with kayaking and everything to do with life in general, but specifically as an independent florist. Operating June Street often feels a bit like navigating an uncharted river. There are unexpected currents, changing conditions, and plenty of moments where it would be easy to focus on everything that could go wrong.
Will I ever get booked again?
What if the flowers don't arrive exactly as expected?
Is this proposal worth my time?
What if someone else is doing it better?
It's easy to let your attention settle on the obstacles. But attention has a funny way of becoming direction. When I spend too much time looking at scarcity, comparison, or fear, I notice that my decisions begin to reflect those things. I create from hesitation instead of curiosity. I play defense instead of making something beautiful.
The opposite is true, too. When I keep my eyes on what I'm building—creating thoughtful florals in the spirit of connection, helping clients see beauty in new ways, designing with intention—I find that my work naturally moves in that direction. The obstacles don't disappear. The river still has rocks, but I'm no longer steering toward them.
One of the reasons I love working with flowers is that they ask us to be present. Every stem bends differently. Every season offers something new. Good design isn't about controlling every variable; it's about responding thoughtfully to what's in front of you. That's why this kayaking lesson felt so familiar. Not because kayaking and floral design have much in common on the surface, but because both reminded me of something deeper: we rarely navigate life alone.
That evening on the river, every woman was paying attention to both the waters ahead and one another in equal measure. Someone was always offering a hand, sharing a tip, celebrating a small victory, or waiting downstream with encouragement. It struck me how much easier it is to face unfamiliar waters when you're surrounded by people who genuinely want you to succeed.
The same is true of creative work. The most meaningful parts of my business have never come from trying to prove myself. They've come from collaboration, trust, and the generous people who've shared their knowledge, offered encouragement, and reminded me to keep going when the current felt stronger than expected.
As floral designers, we're often creating celebrations of connection for other people. This experience reminded me that we need those moments ourselves, too. Life will always give us reasons to stare at the things we'd rather avoid. The missed opportunities, the difficult conversations, and the uncertainty of building something meaningful without fully knowing where it will lead.
Perhaps the better question is: Where do you want to go?
While I'm still very much a beginner in a kayak and can’t recall every rapid, the memory of the shared IK (inflatable kayak) with my sister, the sizzling hamburger patties on the grill, the pie and champagne waiting for us at the end, and all the women who celebrated together lingers on. I will remember that lesson long after my bruised knees and goose egg shins have healed.
Beautiful experiences are made of thoughtful gestures where someone is paying enough attention to the details so that everyone else can simply enjoy being present.
It's a philosophy I hope to carry into my work. Whether I'm arranging flowers or stepping into a new experience, the goal is the same: to create space for connection, trust the current, and keep my eyes on where I want to go.
