Learning to Walk

Going into a three-day weekend, there is one thing I crave: REST.

I don’t know about you, but I have trouble slowing down.  Trouble resting. Trouble releasing.

I don’t walk much. I run. I sprint. I lunge. I dance. I pound out sweat and calories and insecurities. I pound out thoughts.

When I stop to notice the packed in sand, the salt air burning my lungs, the sound of murmuring waves, moonlight on whitecaps, and the dark curtain of clouds, I don’t rejoice.

The panic sets in, scared that whatever I’ve been running from has overtaken me at last. Instead of breathing easier, I clench. I start writing my response in my head, tomorrow’s blog post, the week’s to-do list. My steps are anything but idle.

And yet breathe I must. Rest I must.  Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs.

It’s not that I don’t notice things. It’s that I can’t stop. Can’t stop the litany of commands and reminders and rebuttals.

I can’t slow my thoughts to a walking pace. Can’t catch a sustainable rhythm. Go go go ‘til burnout and defeat.

Oh God, teach me to walk.