First it was 100 Steps.
Then it was 200 Steps.
I wrote about both experiences almost immediately after doing them. This time I took a little longer.
It’s Mom’s two-year anniversary and I’ve walked many steps, though never alone. On my last trip to Puerto Rico, I went to the beach and one day had the beach all alone to myself, pretty ideal since walking with your eyes closed isn’t something that looks cool or remotely normal.
Having a beach to yourself is a very special experience and something I’ve been able to enjoy on a couple of occasions, though never when the surf is too big (safety first). It had been a while since I had taken steps with my eyes closed, though I felt the need to do so. At first, it took like four attempts to get any type of rhythm going and at 30 or 40 steps I’d open my eyes out of instinct, reflex, fear or a combination of these. I could have grumbled and been fidgety, but I was neither. I just gave a chuckle, shook it off, and closed my eyes to try again.
When I began to take steps, I immediately spoke to Mom, wishing her well, sending my love. I told her she’d done wonderfully and I thanked her for letting me be with her on her last day on this plane. The conversation was chess-like in the sense that I took ten steps, spoke, then another ten steps and again I spoke.
I apologized for the typos on the short story I read to her on her last day, one I had written earlier that same day. I apologized for not having finished the Human Cycle while she was alive. Then I apologized for apologizing so much and chuckled. I took ten more steps and spoke to her, how much I love her. Love. Not loved, because my love for my Mother is never in the past tense. We have that choice, to love in the present and do it with a smile, even if some tears slip away. Tears are OK. And so is moving forwards with them within.
I choose to do those walks at my local surf spot, because Mom always said she wanted part of her to be there. But instead of sprinkling her ashes, I sprinkle her love ten steps at a time and with words from the heart, to ensure proper coverage of the beach.
When you get past 100 steps, it gets easier...for a while. That's until you have second thoughts. You shake a bit because let’s face it, walking with your eyes closed is rarely recommended. That’s when I took a short pause and a deep breath. I steadied myself the best that I could and took ten more steps. I talked to Mom a bit more, then ten more steps. I talked to God and wished my best as well. No requests, no laundry lists of petitions, just a hello, a thank you, a how are you doing, and ten steps in between. God needs conversation as much as prayer, or so I’d like to believe.
Then I reached 200 steps, the most I had done to that point. I had to stand still again to take another steadying breath. I thought of life and how sometimes you need to catch your breath and steady yourself. People are so often compelled to progress and succeed that they don’t give themselves a moment, a break, some slack, or a breather. They just keep pushing. I can’t help but look at those times I’ve taken a moment to catch my breath to see the renewed energy and determination. Then again, that’s me. Some people need to push through pain to hit that second wind or find their stride. And that’s important too. To know yourself and what you need. What lets you do what you want to do. For me, I need that small moment to gather myself so I can then take ten more steps.
Success has been that way for me, a couple of steps at a time. Healing has also been that way for me. Never a cure-all or a single solution. Both take patience, understanding, and a moment to gather myself.
When my steps reached the 250s, you’d think I'd be comfortable with what I was doing, but I wasn't. Sometimes your legs shake because you have no idea where you are standing. Think about it. When is the last time you took any amount of steps with your eyes closed? You think of so many things. That you’ll step on a piece of drift wood, a rock, a sea urchin, a jellyfish, and the temptation to stop and open your eyes is most definitely there. Again, I can’t say I recommend walking with your eyes closed, but maybe it was growing up with a grandmother that had advanced glaucoma, but part of my process of healing, of processing my emotions requires me to do this. That’s because you don’t always need to understand the why as long as you can answer the for what. It’s a phrase Mom always told me: no es el por qué, es el para qué/it’s not the why, but the for what in regards to the things we experience.
As I neared the 300 steps mark, I felt relief because I knew I was reaching my goal. Although still tense from having walked so many steps, there was less of an edge because for this instance, I had the benefit of knowing I was near my goal. Sure, I needed to be careful, but I had taken a long look to where I wanted to walk and even with the 40 something missteps I took at the beginning, I had settled down, started again, and progressed.
At 290, I became aware that my face felt cool from all the tears that had flowed without me really realizing it. I was extremely present in the moment, I had goose flesh, and also realized how much tension I’d been carrying in my shoulders. I rolled them and moved my neck as well. (Slowly because when you do that with your eyes closed, balance can definitely be a tricky thing to maintain).
I said I love you to Mom and to God and promised I’d keep doing my best. I took the last ten steps and stood there a moment, giving thanks for having been able to do that without tripping, without falling on my face, without stepping on a jellyfish or a sea urchin, or anything else. I don’t know how long it had taken and I didn’t care. All I cared about was that I had taken 300 steps with my eyes closed. For me. For my healing. For meaning in my life.
Then I opened my eyes and the brightness was even more overwhelming than when I had done the 200 steps. Colors take a second to settle and everything is the definition of intense. Like everything though, your surroundings settle, you see how much more beach there is to walk, yet you look back and marvel at your progress. You see how your path strays a bit to the left, a bit to the right, where you stepped deeper, where you possibly stumbled, where you realized you might have been walking straight into the ocean, where you took a pause and shuffled sand in place before you were ready to continue, and it all makes sense in some odd way.
And that’s life, odd, intense, and weird. Sometimes you feel out of control, sometimes you know exactly where you’re going. Sometimes you need to take a moment to catch your breath, and other times you need to push. But no matter how many steps I take or how many times I do this, I realize that when I open my eyes, even with the challenges, even with the pain, even with the struggles, even with the doubts, life is bright and always inviting you to take the steps you need to get to where a smile is waiting.
My thanks for reading, for sharing, and may your steps always lead you to where you have to go.
Peace, love, and maki rolls.
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