I put on my backpack, filled with a blanket and my coffee substitute (I know, I know, for shame). No church for me this morning. The trail was what I needed. It was a perfectly gorgeous morning. The sun was just starting to come through the trees, just on the verge of being the embodiment of every fall color.
The past week has been really, really stressful, for reasons I’m not free to discuss…with anyone. Holding all of that has been too much and I feel like I’m breaking.
As I walked, I noticed the sunlight coming through the trees, the squeaks of the forest, coming alive. The squirrels and chipmunks always make me smile. And…how many times was I grateful I was in the Midwest where my nervous system didn’t have to worry about bears or cougars? Funny, it came to mind more than once. I’m glad to be in a safe place for at least a nice hike.
…
About a half-mile down the trail, I hear voices…not a welcome thing. I came early to get away and here they are…people.
And not just any people. These are chatty, happy, friendly people. These are people I may or may not recognize as people who visit the YMCA I work at. They are those “active moms who work out together” types. This is their Sunday morning run, I guess. So, I get off the trail, nod and smile politely, and let them pass. Ugh. Another reminder why I don’t like being in this small town.
For all of my efforts, I’ve rarely had friends here who can take the time to hike with me. When my kids were little, they loved coming with me, exploring the streams and being silly along the trails. We’d make walking sticks and look at bugs, sit on big rocks, and address all of the nonsensical ideas that popped into our heads.
But now, it’s just me. My mind starts to spin, Will I ever have friends who have time for me? Or rather, will I ever have friends here whose schedules work with mine? Is this going to be my life, for the rest of my life…hiking alone because everyone else would rather be inside?
Honestly, I’d love to have that kind of companionship those women have.
I walked along the river, sat for a while, watching the sun cast glitter on the water. The path was still fragrant with the moisture of the morning. It’s a great time to hike. Only every once in a while did I hear their voices, reminding me of my being alone and feeling chronically alone.
An hour or so later, they passed me again on the trail. I continued to walk the path back to my car.
Now, there they were, all of the couples were walking together. How sweet.
Some were walking for exercise. Others were strolling, hand in hand.
I wondered, Did she have to beg him to come along? Or vice versa? Or is this something they do every Sunday morning? Do they enjoy each other’s company? What do they talk about? What does anyone talk about once their kids leave the house?
OMG…
My head starts to swirl.
Done. Not going there today.
So I drove to the labyrinth at the convent. It enforces a kind of silence on my brain that I cannot get anywhere else. I continue to walk, slowly, remembering to breathe. Breathe it all out. Breathe out the anger, the loneliness, the grief. You are safe. You are loved…
Walking and breathing. I’ll get there.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Jon Flobrant on Unsplash
