In the hallways of the mall between my parking spot and my office, I passed a man this morning. He’s familiar, I’ve seen him before. He is skinny and slightly bent; his clothes hang off him, plaid shirt tucked into slacks hiked a little too high, cinched by a belt. Solid old man runners with velcro instead of laces.
He has a neurological condition that has obviously reduced the ability of his mind to direct his lower body to move. Each step is tortuous effort. With right leg planted his swings the left crutch ahead. Not far, his foot-length at most. Using his entire left side for momentum, and leaning forward onto the crutch he thrusts his left hip forward, a monumental effort. His leg follows but is weighted by his foot and stops short, one small shuffle forward. He anchors down on his left side and starts again. One. painfully. slow. step. after. another.
I want to tell him he inspires me. That sometimes I feel tired and alone and that I don’t know where to go from here. But then I see him, and I’m bit ashamed but also hopeful. My life is so easy. Of course I can do this.
All I need to do is take the next step.
It's Lonely in Here 