How Far We Must Go
Versus Where We’ve Been
|No black dogs of depression, these guys.|
They help me in the good fight against it.
Rosie, Deek, and I walk every day. They are dogs. I walk them because they’re fat and need the exercise. I walk myself because I have a tiny problem with depression (maybe not so tiny), and exercise gets the serotonin moving in my brain and keeps it there. At first, I dreaded the walks, the dogs were rambunctious and I constantly had to keep them on a tight leash, literally. Two months after daily walks, they behave, and I, too, am behaving.
Increasing the distance each day, we’re now up to 1.6 miles. We walk to the end of the paved road and back home. Today, as I reached the end of the pavement, turned around, and looked in the distance, it seemed so far to my street, which I couldn’t even see. I got tired thinking how far I had to go, so I decided to just step along—one foot after another. I wanted to look back when I reached our street and see how far I’d been.
Reaching our street, in moments I was home, and realized I forgot to look back. Isn’t that just like life? I get so caught up in where I’m going, reaching my destination, that I forget just where I’ve been. In walking, depression, and life, I have a long way to go, but I’ve also come a long way, and it’s important to note the journey as well as the destination.