One Foot After The Other
My dad died two Decembers ago.
And I moved back home eleven months before that to be with him while he was sick.
I’m often asked variations of, “So what are you doing with yourself now?”
I used to say, “I’m writing a little. Thinking about starting a new book maybe.”
But that question is mostly asked by people who don’t read my books.
And that’s just about everybody.
Close friends and family included.
And I know not to say, “Well, today I kicked over the sharp edged shells while walking on the beach so little kids or joggers don’t hurt their feet on them.”
Although it is, in fact, what I did today, no one would register with that response and it would only lead to more questions I couldn’t or wouldn’t answer satisfactorily.
So, when I was asked earlier I simply said, “I’m just existing for now. We’ll see what happens next.”
The woman took a contemplative sip of her drink and said, “I wish I could just exist for awhile too.”
And now that I’ve added the previous 174 words to the world while sitting on these rocks, everything seems to have clicked back in place and my mind is once again at ease.