Finding the next step

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.

From outside looking in

I have everything and more to be grateful for. I come from a big family who loves me. I have three university degrees, a solid career, a big house in an enviable neighbourhood within an hours drive to the mountains. I share my home with a fit handsome husband, two super kids and dog that is currently sleeping at my feet. I have 1,192 connections on Linkedin, 458 friends on Facebook, 122 followers on Instagram, and I don’t understand twitter. Between work, family, travel and a bit of exercise thrown in, my days are generally scheduled from 6am to 8pm. I am busy.

But I feel alone. Not in the sense that there is no one around me at the moment, which admittedly, there is not. Rather, that there is very few persons out there that I connect with, that know who I am, whom I can be vulnerable with and who are vulnerable with me. I feel like I am sitting on the outside looking in, watching life speed past, and missing it. I want to participate, but I just don’t know how. I think I may have have lost the ability to put myself out there, to make friends, to bond with humans, to share this life with others.

So whining to the inter-verse, is that going to help? Likely not. But perhaps its not just me. Perhaps in writing this I can explore ways to get out there, participate, and feel like I’m living. In writing this blog I can hold myself accountable to change.

I want part of a life that is bigger than whats in my own head.