Learning To Walk
I have learned to walk. Twice.
Once as a baby, like everyone else.
Once as a six-year-old. I had to relearn to walk because the paralysis that came with polio erased my muscle memory. It’s harder the second time, trust me.
But because I got up again and walked, ran, skipped, danced, rode, jogged, tramped, hiked and otherwise ambulated, I know both the utter necessity of doing this, and the steel required. After a devastating loss, it’s the only choice that ever made sense to me. Rise up and walk.
A number of factors are at work right now, in my heart, in my week - and my answer has been “learn to walk. Again.” It’s my way of hitting Reset. But mind you, this is not the self-castigating “pick yourself up and walk, you big fat baby.” No, this is the tentative one-foot-in-front-of-the-other toddling. This is venturing forth into new territory - a place where I have no experience. Never before has the buck stopped here. But it does. People, plants and pets are counting on me. (And maybe a few pipes too.)
Look for me to be buying new shoes, hitting the gym, practicing my walking all alone on this path.