One in front of the other

Endurance is one of those things they don’t talk about much.  They should.  It’s essential.  Most of humanity survives, I’m sure, because of our ability to endure.  In fact, physically our evolutionary advantage resided mainly in our ability to do long-distance, endurance running (and our ability to sweat, of course).  Emotionally, I’m never sure how survivors of trafficking, rape and violence make it – but we seem to do so. 

Endurance is a vastly challenging discipline of a second-by-second occupation of the mind and body.  It’s about being who we really are, where we really are – even if we’re not completely all there, even.  It’s about wasting time, sometimes.  It’s about taking mental pictures and trying to remember a single moment.  It’s about letting one’s mind wander.  It’s about remembering the past, good or bad.  It’s about seeking the blessings of work, busyness, company, physical comfort, food and drink, and sometimes drugs.  It’s about feeling your loneliness sometimes, even though it might tempt you into a black hole of sadness.  It’s about not giving in to easy feelings of blame, anger, self-pity, scorn, spite and impatience.  It’s about doing what you can to keep your feet moving.  One foot in front of the other. 

It’s about seeking life.

For every moment we can’t move, I’m convinced we die a little.  Or perhaps the act of dying a little stops our steps.  And those are the moments when grief is present, all around, surrounding like a terrible, blanketing, dull yet piercing fog.  Clouding our minds and words and deeds, until we break the spell with weeping.  And our steps become tears, so that it is all about one tear after another.  And when the tears are spent, our walking resumes with steps.  One foot in front of the other.