#makethepathbywalking

Get walking here,

Get grounded here,

Go out from here.

Go back to the ones who hustle,

To the noise,

On your own terms.

Bring your silence to it,

Your wisdom,

Your peace.

Be a blessing,

Give what they long for,

What they need,

Flowing from the gift you received--

The gift you gave yourself

The beauty you long for,

Hooo boy! I was about to split with you, dude. That thing you said, sent me storming out the house, keys jangling, door slamming. It wasn't even a fight, just a snide comment you made to me, then kinda backed out of (but not quite). But I was already over you. I'd moved out and moved on. I'd separated our bank accounts.

Walking to the park, I thought of all the burns I'd kill ya with, how to poetically tell you that you're the worst. Trying on the big gestures that would prove my point. I almost stopped at the corner store and bought three cases of beer to drop on you with a finely tuned dig!

I kept walking.

I texted you something snarky, deleted the words before they were sent.

Then I walked some more.

Texted you something more benign, with just a subtle edge.

I was still glaring dark, people avoided eye contact with me, they didn't cross my huffing pace.

I was walking hard.

The older homeless guys who congratate in the park, the ones who point out if I have a nice ass or look tasty or not, even they didn't dare make a comment to me today.

I kept walking, round and round the park.

My body calmed after a while. I called my sister but she didn't answer. I called my mom. Dad was there, too. We chatted about family and Thanksgiving and little funny things. I laughed a bit. My temper started cooling off.

We even talked about you, laughing affectionately about your lack of Christmas spirit, and about the uncanny way you and I bought the same exact gift for each other this week. My cousin asked my mom at Thanksgiving yesterday, "Do they always think so much the same?" Mom said, "Yeah, usually!" I laughed, "Only about overpriced soap. Not about anything else!" My Dad snickered at that. He likes jokes about paying too much for things.

I didn't mention what an ass you are, what you'd said, how mad I was. By now, I was starting to forget how awful you are.

I walked home, talking to Mom. Dad had fallen off the talk by now. I walked up the stairs, poured a drink for me, and one for you, too. Took it up to you. Walked back down and had my own, all the while talking to Mom. I finished my drink, went back upstairs. Said, "Are we friends?" You said, "Yes, come here."

I laid down with you, you held me close. Your left arm was warm and strong around me, your right hand holding your phone. We looked at something on the internet together, laughed a bit. I realized it wasn't worth hashing over, this one. It doesn't always have to be a big deal. I don't always have to have the last word, or even make a case for myself.

Start Knowing. Elizabeth Gilbert said that from the stage at the Brave Magic workshop I attended last month. 

The room was full of women, white women of means to be exact. Yeah, a pretty privileged group. I didn’t love that part. It felt weird. 

But the truth is–even in the middle of all that privilege–most of the people in the room were pretty much saying “I don’t know” all the time.

Raise your hand if you’ve used crisis energy to get you through. Yeah, me too. It’s not always bad. I’m not completely against it. Responding to a crisis gets your adrenaline going—energy!—so it works.

But Crisis Mode is no place to live; it takes a toll. If you make Crisis Mode your go-to, you’ll pay for it with your mental health, a broken body, sinking relationships, or a burned out career. The cost is just too high. So I'm not paying the Crisis Mode tax anymore.

There’s another choice I am practicing when I have the wherewithal these days. It’s simple, effective, and makes me feel better than Crisis Mode does.

Stop.

Take a breath.

Put your shoes on.

Grab a partner (if you want).

Go outside.

Even if it’s too early, even if you’re running late.

Take one step forward—literally, physically.

Let the motion propel you forward, into the next step.

Take a walk, for realsies.

Keep walking.

Keep walking.

Keep walking.

See where it takes you.

Who knows, maybe it leads to Knowing the right next step to take.

Measured, intentional action guided by your wise mind.

If not, well, at least you got your walk in and saw a pretty view.

The sun will come and go. 

Your wish for sun will remain. 

Keep this moment, scribble it down, bury it in secret dirt. 

I’ve figured out that it takes about a three-mile walk each day to feel somewhat grounded in this body of mine. Three miles cut through the lizard brain; if I’m walking with Caleb, that’s when we stop airing our fears and grievances and drop into a deeper conversation. 

He and I have adopted these lines from a poem by Antonio Machado as our theme for 2017: “Traveler, there is no path. The path is made by walking.” We are making the path by walking this year. I trust we will Get Somewhere or Greet Someone or Make Something or Learn Somehow along the way. But if we don’t, we will at least Be Where Our Feet Are every day.