Guide

So, you want to be a guide, do you? Well, grab your PFD, shove a paddle in someone’s hands, and let’s head downstream, because being a guide isn't about having all the answers—it’s about knowing where the eddies are when the current gets rough, and where to find a quiet spot when someone needs a break. It’s about embracing the uncomfortable truth that you, too, are just reading the river as it comes, while somehow making everyone else think you’re the one who knows exactly where each rapid leads.

Think of being a guide like this: you’re not the river itself, you’re just the one who knows enough to say, “We’re gonna get wet, so hang on.” You call out commands like, “All forward!” even if you’re not totally sure what’s around that next bend, but you know that together, you’ll handle whatever’s coming. The truth is, nobody really knows what they’re doing out here—no one can ever completely predict what the river will do—but the best guides admit it, smile, and keep paddling anyway.

People experiencing something new don’t need you to be some kind of guru perched on a rock, spouting wisdom like you’re the keeper of the river’s secrets. No, they need someone who’s flipped a boat or two, someone with a scar from that time they underestimated a rock, and who’s willing to laugh about it while pulling them back into the raft. They need someone who points out the bald eagles and the way the sunlight catches the spray, but also the spots that can flip you if you’re not paying attention. Because anyone who’s spent time on the water knows there’s more honesty in a violent swim than in staying dry all day.

To support someone who’s new, you have to resist the urge to be the hero. Be more like the campfire after a long day—warm, inviting, with stories that make the blisters and bruises feel worthwhile. Remember, every great guide was once that terrified rookie gripping the paddle too tight, and it’s that memory of being humbled by the river that gives you the empathy they need. You’re there to say, “Yeah, it’s intimidating, but it’s also kind of amazing, isn’t it?” You’re there to remind them that nobody rides the river without getting tossed around, but everyone comes back with tales worth sharing.

A good guide is a reflection, not a savior. You help people find the courage they didn’t know they had, and remind them they’re already capable—even if they feel like they’re paddling upstream in a leaky raft. You don’t need to conquer the river for them—you just need to keep them laughing when they get stuck on a rock or when someone takes an unexpected swim. And let’s be real, someone always takes an unexpected swim.

So, be a guide like that. Not the invincible captain, but the one with sunburned cheeks, wet shoes, and a grin that says, “We’re in this together.” Be the one who says, “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to not know what’s coming next.” Because really, anyone who claims they have it all figured out hasn’t spent enough time on the river—they’re just another soul who forgot that the water always has the last word.

In the end, being a guide isn’t about always knowing the way—it’s about being willing to take the journey, rapids and all, with good company. So grab your paddle, or don’t—maybe just float and see where the current takes you. You’re not here to command the river. You’re here to remind everyone they’re not alone while they navigate the ride.

-sedale