A few days ago I thought for awhile, sitting on my couch with the brick of cheese and a bag of chips, Gilmore Girls on Netflix. Perhaps you know this sort of thinking.
Should I? Shouldn't I? No, I'm tired. Yes, you can do this, Julie...
...and I did, I walked out my front door.
Several years ago, this wouldn't have been a big deal. Sometimes I wonder why I didn't do things like it more. When it was easier than I knew, so much easier than I knew then. Try tennis, go to that barre class, do more yoga; yes, these things I wish I'd done more, friends. Before.
So what was this momentous occasion, you ask?
A walk.
A simple walk.
A walk through my neighborhood.
All by myself.
Since my surgery two years ago, I have gone on many strolls, but never alone.
One step, two steps, I breathed deeply and purposely, that day last week. I practiced looking up and around, rather than just at my feet, which I'm prone to do now; and I practiced an even stride, swaying a bit here and there, without my cane anymore. While I walked, of course I wondered about a few things. For I have found this Amputation Experience to be a treasure chest of lessons.
As I walked, I thought...this is life. It is beautiful, it is terrible, but it is beautiful.
You see, it was a terrible thing to lose a leg, but a beautiful thing to stretch and reach for courage, to open doors.
Life begs for our courage, friends, because sad and tough stuff happens. We are knocked down for awhile. Sometimes for a long, long time. Sometimes it feels like too long, too much. For what seemed like endless days I was sick in my home, wondering when it all would end. Well it did and I stood up, learning to walk on a prosthetic leg. But those first times with my new leg, I told myself just to put it on for an hour.
Just an hour, Julie, just an hour...
...and I would sigh, take a big gulp of coffee, maybe stay in bed for another hour. That leg propped against the wall, neglected and (nearly) forgotten.
Because it takes courage to get up, to move, to go. So that day last week, I was proud that I opened the front door and stepped out. You see, it is beautiful thing to open a door.
And when we step out, if we can move our heads to look around, it is a good thing too. I realized this on my walk last week, the value of scanning for dangers and objects to trip on, but looking for neighbors' smiles too. Rather than stare down some myopic focus of my fears and doubts...it is good to look around. To let new stuff in, like the birds and the trees. To close one's eyes and let the sun melt our woes.
As I headed down the hill (a-very-big-to-me-now-hill) I also realized that it is helpful to lean into the descent, rather than resist it. It is a bit counter-intuitive, going down hill and leaning forward, but my fancy robot knee works better when I relax and step in. And of course my mind hummed about how we are brave when we lean into a hard and sad experience, rather than pull back and tremble, immobile, resisting our challenge or change. Our something new.
You see, it was a terrible thing to lose a leg, but a beautiful thing to learn to trust my path.
And then, friends, I thought about being alone on that walk. There is such good and dear company for us on earth, to say nothing of those angels in whom I believe with all my heart. But it is up to us, and really us alone, to get out of bed. To put on a leg, or our life's version of a leg. No one can make these choices for us, even when it gets hard and too long. Sometimes we must lie still or rest or sleep for awhile, or a long while even, giving ourselves grace and patience and understanding; for me, it was more than two years until I opened that door, for my first solo walk.
But then comes the day when we say: Okay, it is time, I am ready...
...because it is a beautiful thing to step out into this big, bright world.
