One Step Ahead
Other people have a way of seeing all that we were and all that we can be, if we let them.
Other people have a way of seeing all that we were and all that we can be, if we let them.
“Up! Up! Up!” my mother softly shouted from the door of my childhood bedroom. It had been about a week since I was released from a nearly three-week stay in the hospital that included my sixth lung collapse, a lung disorder diagnosis and emergency reconstructive surgery. Finally released from the routine boredom of 3 a.m. chest x-rays and twice-a-day blood work, I settled into at-home recovery by reading books on my Kindle and watching old episodes of Luther on Netflix. Chicago that spring had been unseasonably warm, at least while I was hospitalized, but with nowhere to go and nothing to do, I ignored the nice weather and kept the heavy purple curtains in my bedroom closed. If I couldn’t be my full self in the world, why would I want to see it? I groaned and closed my eyes. “Change out of those clothes. We’re going for a walk,” my mother said. “I don’t know if I can do that,” I told her. Was I honest? Not really. But when you’ve experienced something both traumatic and life changing, both unnerving and frustrating, it becomes easy to feel sorry for yourself. “Yes, you can. Do you need me to help you?” she asked. After a short stare down between us and a deep sigh from me, she left the room. Five minutes later, I was downstairs.
She knew I was capable of “going the distance,” even if it seemed impossible to me in the moment.
That day, we walked to the end of our block, then turned around and came home. In total, I’d guess it was about 150 steps. “See?” she asked after we returned. I took off my shoes and crawled back into the bed. The next few days repeated this routine, though each walk was a little longer than the walk before. She went from asking if I could do one more block to me simply doing it unprompted. Along the way, I began to discover more about the town and neighborhood I once called home. I saw an impractical little water fountain created on a side street. I finally saw the neighbors whose front yard was filled with corn stalks. I met the many neighbors who moved in after I moved out for college. And while reaching the first mile took a while, the feeling of accomplishment was well worth the wait. I had accomplished something powerful and important for myself, but with the help of someone who loved me unconditionally. She knew I was capable of “going the distance,” even if it seemed impossible to me in the moment. Two weeks later, I was back in my own home, taking care of myself (albeit a little slower than life before my illness). Other people—our strongest, best connections, in particular—have a way of seeing all that we were and all that we can be, if we let them. The strength of your connections is the single greatest determining factor for your health. I understand this deeply.