The Thing with Feathering

Let's go for a paddle in a canoe. The canoe is placed in the water, and you pick up the paddle, and steady yourself as you sit down. A canoe in the water weighs less than the water it displaces, and a canoe with a person in it still weighs less than the water it displaces. Nevertheless, it's a good idea not to stand in a canoe. Once comfortably settled into the canoe, perhaps sitting on a rush woven seat, you can push off from the shore with the paddle. This will send you forward in an uncertain direction. This is the time to start paddling.

 A paddle is an excellent piece of technology. It's designed to cut into the water easily in two directions, but be more or less stagnant in the other orientation. It actually is negotiating two liquids: water and air. The alteration between the ease of its movement and the stability used to add energy is the same in air and water. But paddling in air - which is what wings do, is not as effective as paddling in water. Furthermore, the air provides not a little resistance to the strokes in it as one seeks to reposition the paddle for another pull in the water. Therefore, on exiting the water, a paddle is quickly turned, a move called feathering, so that it may glide unencumbered through the air and then be turned as it enters the water again. It's much more efficient to turn the paddle than it is to overcome the air resistance.

Feathering as a philosophy is something you can apply to life: resisting in situations where you need the power and gliding transparently where you need to pass through it in order to get back into the powered mode.