Today I Choose to be Buoyant – How to be Buoyant

Buoyant doesn’t mean the absence of weight—it means learning how to float even while carrying it.

I learned this at Canopy Oaks RV park in Lake Wales, just weeks after Curtis came home from his near-death hospital stay.

I was nervous about the trip. He was still weak from losing 50 pounds in a month, still adjusting to life with the ostomy, still figuring out what foods wouldn’t hurt him. Neither of us knew what “normal” would look like anymore. I expected the trip to feel heavy, cautious, maybe even sad.

The weight of almost losing him sat on my chest constantly. Every cough made me panic. Every wince made me wonder if we should head home.

But then Curtis suggested renting a golf cart.

When Prudence Flew Out the Window

It was supposed to be a prudent choice—Canopy Oaks is huge, and walking would have exhausted him. But the moment we took off in that golf cart, prudence went out the window.

We were tearing down trails, laughing like teenagers. Taking corners too fast. Racing other golf carts (yes, really—two 60-somethings drag racing in golf carts). We found hidden fishing spots and just decided to fish, no plan, no proper equipment, just joy.

For hours, we just played.

Curtis’s ostomy bag, his weakness, the medical supplies back at the RV—none of it disappeared. The weight was still there. But somehow we were floating above it, carried by laughter and golf cart adventures and the absurdity of feeling this light while life was still so heavy.

The Moon That Changed Everything

As if the day needed a final flourish, that night the sky gifted us a moon unlike any we’d ever seen—golden, massive, low on the horizon. We stopped the golf cart in the middle of a path, probably breaking twelve park rules, and just stared.

Tears welled up. Not sad tears. Not even happy tears. Just… overflow. The beauty of it, the fact that we were seeing it together when we almost weren’t, the ridiculous perfection of that moon after that day—it lifted us completely out of the heaviness that had defined our months.

That night, I understood buoyancy.

What Buoyancy Actually Is

It wasn’t about pretending the weight wasn’t there. Curtis still had an ostomy. Still faced uncertain outcomes. I still carried the trauma of almost losing him, still startled awake checking if he was breathing.

But buoyancy let us float anyway.

Buoyancy is:

• Laughing during ostomy changes and wound care
• Dancing in the kitchen with an IV pole
• Planning trips while reading scan results
• Finding joy in the same day you process grief
• Choosing play when prudence would choose worry

The Golf Cart Philosophy

That golf cart became our symbol. Whenever things got heavy—another scan, another procedure, another worry—one of us would say, “Remember the golf cart?”

It meant: Remember that we can carry weight and still float. Remember that joy doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. Remember that sometimes the best response to heaviness is to rent a golf cart and break some rules.

Buoyancy in Daily Life

Now I look for buoyancy everywhere:

In traffic jams: Instead of frustration, I play my guilty pleasure playlist loud
During tax season: I do the paperwork with wine and chocolate
In difficult conversations: I suggest walking while we talk, movement creating lightness
After bad news: I find something, anything, to celebrate that same day
During mundane tasks: I race myself, make games, add unnecessary flair

The Science of Floating

In water, buoyancy happens when the upward force equals the weight pushing down. You don’t eliminate the weight—you match it with lift.

Life works the same way. You can’t always eliminate the heavy stuff. But you can add lift:

• Unexpected laughter in serious moments
• Small adventures in routine days
• Beauty noticed in difficult seasons
• Play chosen despite circumstances
• Connection prioritized over perfection

The Moon Moments

That golden moon at Canopy Oaks taught me something: buoyancy often comes from beauty we didn’t expect. When you’re open to awe, even in heavy seasons, something lifts you.

Now I actively look for “moon moments”:

• Sunrise caught while worrying
• Birds singing during hard phone calls
• Unexpected kindness on difficult days
• Perfect coffee in imperfect moments
• Love shown up in small gestures when big ones aren’t possible

The Truth About Buoyancy

Buoyancy doesn’t erase struggle; it coexists with it. To be buoyant is to allow joy, wonder, and lightness to keep you afloat even when life feels heavy. It’s about catching those small currents—laughter, awe, connection—that lift you back to the surface when you feel like sinking.

Curtis still has health challenges. We still have scary days. But we also have a golf cart philosophy: When life gets heavy, add more lift. Find the thing that makes you float. Choose play over prudence sometimes.

And always, always stop for golden moons, even if you’re breaking park rules to do it.

That’s buoyancy—not the absence of weight, but the presence of lift. Not waiting for lightness, but creating it. Not denying the heavy, but floating anyway.

Find your golf cart. Break some gentle rules. Float.