Take a walk

 About a month ago my truck wouldn’t start. It made me spiral. I didn’t know why. I didn’t have the money to fix it. But it was safe in a garage and I had planned my life to walk here before I was lucky enough to have a vehicle. 

For the last month I have been forced to walk more. To work, to the store, to go out. 

I have found it is the best thing that could have happened. 

When the truck broke, I began to spiral, so much of my personal freedom has always been tied into having a vehicle. 

Getting a license is a rite of passage. It is the first time as a youth you can have self determination. It is a societal demand, a badge of honor and a badge of shame when you can’t drive. 

The American dogma loves the car, the truck and all that it entails. You aren’t a real adult if you don’t drive. Jobs that don’t even need you to drive will not hire you if you can’t drive. They don’t trust you can make it to work without a vehicle. 

I felt a lot of shame when the truck broke and I couldn’t immediately fix it. 

But then in the midst of my spiral. I started walking again. 

Walking was a big part of me surviving during COVID and unemployment. I went almost 4 years without a car. No cost of insurance, garage, gas all that. 

But I saw so much of the world different when I started to walk. I slowed down and saw things differently. 

In the last month I have discovered that again. I moved here thinking I wouldn’t have a vehicle. I picked my apartment thinking I wouldn’t have a vehicle. 

In the last month I have seen more of my local community through walking than I did in the 13 months of driving. 

It has reminded me how the simple act of walking is a natural therapy. It provides perspective, exercise and peace. 

I am a better me after a walk. After seeing all the vilification of technology and screens over the past several decades, I think that we as a society have missed the point. 

The screens are the red herring. The inherent problem is that we stopped moving, stopped being physical beings, became click and stick. 

I have been better for the walking in the last month. I need to walk. It helps me regulate my darkness, my chaos and makes me breathe. 

Maybe. Maybe. It’s not technology that is killing us. But our lack of connection to being a physical being. Take a walk. See the world that you can’t see when you’re paying attention to the road. 

Forget the shame of shiny vehicles and status. And just take a walk. 

Random Mondays it hurts more.

Grief is a horrible and variable thing. Often you think that you can plan for it, certain days, holidays, anniversaries. These are things you can see coming and plan for the emotions that will likely follow. You don’t always succeed but you know it’s coming. So that’s something. 

For me the worst days are the unexpected. Maybe a random Monday. Like today. Sometimes it’s a fun moment, like a story or moment you want to share with Mom because you know it would make her smile or laugh. Sometimes it’s a confused brain moment, thinking we need to let mom know we are running behind so she doesn’t worry. 

What I have learned is that the worst, the thing that hurts the most, the moments that wreck me are more subtle. They aren’t anniversaries or special dates, they aren’t holidays. They are the moments that I need my mom the most. 

The moment when I want to call her. Just to tell her what I am going through. The times I need her to listen, to give advice, to challenge me or support me. 

Mom and I were a lot alike. And I could drive her insane with my attitude, actions and questions. She could influence and infuriate me with her responses and her patience. 

It sometimes, more than I want to admit, got messy because I got messy. Often she would listen and love even if she didn’t understand. She seemed to innately know when to push back and when to wait for me to wear myself out like a child than doesn’t want to accept the reality of sleep or reality itself. 

I tried to embrace calling her more toward the end and I will never forgive myself for not calling more most of my life. I had this incredible resource and I foolishly thought it would always be there. 

I would give anything to be able to call my mom today. To tell her my thoughts, my fears and my frustrations. And I know I would be better for it, just to have that outlet. To know my mom was listening and there. 

She might not agree or always trust my thoughts, actions, she didn’t always have solutions or the right thing to say. But she was always there. And she always was willing to listen. 

That is such a powerful thing that I miss. 

Call your mom if you can. Please.