Dancing With Death is the Only Way to Live Fully
The only absolute guarantee in this life is that we will, eventually, leave it. It is the one certain reality of the human experience, yet we treat it like a dirty secret. We bury it under small talk and distractions. We treat death like sex or money—taboo, hushed, and hidden behind closed doors.
But I’ve found that when you stop hiding from the end, you finally start beginning.
In my 20s, I spent my life in a tiny plastic kayak at the mercy of the most volatile forces of nature. I spent years sifting through river books, obsessing over details, and training to grow the cojones necessary to stare down Class 5 rapids. I remember hauling my boat on my back down sketchy-as-hell trails to the put-ins, suiting up with trembling hands, and stretching the skirt over the cockpit. I’d pray to whatever higher power was listening, seal-launch into the cold mountain runoff waters, and then: Game on.
Adrenaline high. Eyes wide. Breath steady as a bull. Knowing one fuck-up could cost me everything. That wasn't just kayaking—that was legit living.
The Bridge to Bridge
The pinnacle of this dance happened in the middle of nowhere—paradise—outside of Futaleufú, Chile. I was standing in a candlelit yurt with my friends Sara and Aaron. The air shifted. The tone got heavy. They looked me dead in the eyes and said, "If you come out of your boat tomorrow, it’s over. You’ll die my friend."
I took a breath, Paused. And these words fell outta my mouth, "I want to do it."
For years, the "Bridge to Bridge" section of the Futaleufú had been on my vision board. I had spent an entire summer in Colorado paddling the ‘gnar’ just to prepare for this moment. I was committed to the dream, and my life depended on my ability to navigate 20,000 cfs of raging whitewater. To put that into perspective, the guiding companies had shut down; the water was dangerously high. The biggest volume I’d ever touched was 5,000 cfs. This was a different beast entirely.
The Best Damn Day
To this day, that run on the "Fu" remains the best damn day of my life. Hands down.
Everything was heightened. The turquoise blue of the glacial runoff was more vivid than any color I’d seen before. The roar of the rapids wasn't just sound; it was a physical vibration in my chest. I paddled my ass off to stay on the green tongue of the entrance, tucked tight behind Aaron with Sara on my tail. I fought through the current, bracing against the rage of the river, dodging massive recirculating holes that would have swallowed me whole if I’d flipped.
It’s a miracle I made it. When we hit the take-out, it was a blur of tears, hugs, and fist pumps. I had pressed my chest against the edge, danced with death, and won. It ignited an aliveness in me that I haven't touched since.
The Humbling
Living half my life in mountain towns throughout the Rockies, I’ve seen the other side of the dance. I’ve known too many people claimed by the river, by avalanches, by bike accidents, and by cancer. In 2020, I lost a dear friend, Dan Escalante, to an avalanche. That loss changed me.
I’m not cocky anymore. I don’t think I’m invincible. I have a bone-deep respect for the elements because the force of nature is the ultimate humbler.
But I refuse to live in the "safe" shadows. If we spend our whole lives avoiding the end, we end up avoiding the life that’s happening right now. Death is coming for us all, but until she arrives, I intend to stay on the dance floor.
My hope is that whenever death finally knocks at my door, she finds me mid-stride—breathless, wide-eyed, and fully; unapologetically alive.
Yours truly, Amy - XXX
