Step by Step

creating footprints of identity...even on our worst days

Whether you listen to the VoiceOver for accessibility, because you’re more of an auditory learner or so you can grab some movement while we’re together—it will consistently be an option.

Photo by Jens Freudenau on Unsplash

Years ago I had a day which was pretty close to perfect.

It wasn’t one specific moment, but a coming together of seemingly serendipitous moments which sparked me to think: I’m lucky.

Later this same day, after dinner with friends who are family, we all took a field trip to the AT&T store.

By this time (on my perfect day not hers) the then 11 year old was exhausted and grumpy.

She and her friends explored the electronics while my friend and I investigated a new phone for her.

(At one point the kid-portion of our group triggered the security alarm. Still not sure how they made *that* happen.)

Once my friend chose a phone, I joined the younger subset on a couch in the back of the store.

“We’re almost done,” I told the boisterous group. “Paperwork and we’re out of here!”

I’d sat for a only a moment when an older woman approached the couch from behind and tapped me on the shoulder.

As I turned I braced myself for criticism of our group’s noise volume.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have to tell you something,” the woman informed me.

“When you came in the store the energy of the room shifted. I felt it. The way you carry yourself, how you walk, everything. I’ve never seen someone hold her body the way you hold yours. I told my daughter I needed to tell you this before we left.”

People have told me this my entire life

My energy. My walk. My posture. How I carry myself.

And yet? Each time the interactions take me aback.

“Thank you so much for making the time to share,” I responded as I grabbed for her hand.

“I’m struggling right now. I feel like my energy is off.” I began to tear up as I continued.

“I’m in the middle of a divorce and I’m really, really tired,” I explained.

The woman nodded.

And, as she started to respond, I anticipated her words.

I assumed she would say, as many have before her, I’ve been there. It will be OK.

“I get it,” the woman replied. “I am in the middle of being old.”

I walked around the couch to where she stood and asked if I could give her a hug.

She said yes and I held her for a few extra seconds before releasing her.

After she left (and after I sleeve-wiped my tears) I texted a friend I knew would ‘get’ the power of the interaction.

Someone who’d understand how in that season of life, even though it was not my love language, I needed affirmation around how, even at 70%, I was able to shine.

A friend who’d feel the intensity (and message from the Universe) behind the words:

I am in the middle of being old

I’ve mulled this encounter since it occurred.

Initially I heard it as a directive to do something! with the gifts I possess.

The more I’ve considered it, however, the more I’ve framed as a message around how life is a process.

Around how we are all *always* ‘in the middle of.’

Today, as I do a voice-over before pressing publish, I hear it as a musing on grief.

I was in the middle of grieving the loss of what I’d thought would be precisely as she was in the middle of grieving something deeply personal about her own life.

We were both tenacious and enduring and, as I’ve always contended, the notion of struggle is both universal and uniting.

Alas, I’ve no perfect Seinfeldian string to yank at the end of this piece.

No snappy sentences which magically transform my musings into being applicable for all of us—except for that.

The notion of struggle is universal and uniting…and this is a good thing

Our specific struggles may differ, yet the experience of grappling with adversity and striving for improvement is a universal of being a human and unites us.

And it’s a reminder to be kind as we are all always in the middle of.