Letting go and holding on
At the age of 12, I jumped, for the first time, into water over my head at Scout Camp, dog-paddled across the pool and was declared a swimmer. I was ecstatic.
At the age of 21, on orders to return to headquarters in the south, I confiscated a jeep, drove all the way across Korea at the 38th parallel, forged papers to catch the train back to Taegu. I was safe.
At the age of 50 I ran a mile, then 5, then 10 and one day had the wild notion to run 26.2 When I did, I was overjoyed.
At the age of 58, I loosened my grip on the wing strut of a Cessna 186 and floated to the ground in Reno, Nevada. I was tranquil-ized.
At 83, I played a 9 hole golf course in my mind while the doctors repaired my heart. I was re-lived.
At 89, I sometime walk the treadmill at 2.5 mph for ten minutes, eleven if I'm up to it. I am grateful.
Now, my wife drives me to the Blood Bank to donate every eight weeks. Life is good.
It is not the act that matters, but the action. Not the destination, but the journey in getting there. Keep taking those "steps", wherever they may take you.ReplyDelete