Walking in Three Parts | Part Three
Third Person Singular. First Step.
In case you missed it, here are Part One and Part Two.
She walked.
Foot of fire after foot of fire.
Whole body blazing, Alit. Ecstatic.
A step again. A step again.
- The Vaster Wilds, Lauren Groff
Her feet feel like they are melted onto the starting block making it impossible to walk, let alone run, which she so desperately wants.
She feels stuck;
Not sure where to go next, and even if she knew, she might fall and tumble; any step forward feels like jumping out of a plane, no solid ground beneath. Voices are screaming at her from behind, from up close; her neck muscles tighten at the sound. “Let’s go!” “What are you waiting for?” “Come on, stop being lazy!” They’re close, too close; she wants them to get away; she wants to get away, to gain distance, but her feet won’t move. She’s stuck.
She looks ahead and sees others running; gleeful, with ease, smiling; Jumping over small hurdles, slowing down every so often, and getting ahead, the space between expanding with every step. Oh how she longs to join them, to run, to run with those who are dearest to her, to take an active part. Her muscles relax at the thought; if only she could feel the rhythm of her feet as they touch the ground, the cool wind in her hair, looking over to give a hint of a smile at the person next to her.
But as she tries to move her feet, they won’t budge; as much as she wants to move, she feels stuck, unable to run.
She remembers her fears. Any step forward is like jumping out of a plane.
What if you fall? What if you don’t land safely on the ground? Do you even know where you’re going? You can’t just jump. You don’t know what you’re doing.
Her thoughts are swirling now, her loved ones getting farther and farther ahead as the voices right behind her are pressuring her to move, to go, to start running, to jump!
She wants to, she does, but the road ahead is filled with the unknown, and if she jumps, who knows what’s next?
And then it hits her - there’s no airplane; there’s no need to jump. She’s already on the track. There’s no fall except that yes, she might trip and fall, and she might end up scratched and bruised, but in order to run, she doesn’t need to jump. With that realization, her breathing slows down as relief kicks in. The voices that had been breathing up her neck, so close, back off just a little. Just enough to give her some space to breathe, to look around, to think.
She considers:
You don’t need to jump.
You don’t need to jump.
You need to walk.
You need to walk before you can run.
And then she looks down at her feet; at her feet where her shoes are melted into the starting block, keeping her stuck. What is she supposed to do?
Take a closer look, a different, gentler voice says. What do you notice?
She is curious now; and then she smiles.
“My shoes!” she exclaims, her grin widening as realization kicks in.
Her whole body relaxes, she’s laughing now.
And then bends down and starts untying her shoelaces.
The air feels calm around her — the voices long gone — as she carefully steps out of her shoe, then the other.
She inhales, then exhales.
The ground is warm and solid beneath her feet as she takes her first step.