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Steps Along the
Way Did somebody say “race”? On the foggy morning of the Dr. Seuss 8K Race For Literacy, the word finally popped out at me. This really was a race. They offered prizes and would publicize participant’s finish times. Until that moment, I’d thought of this as a morning of exercise and camaraderie for charity--and for fun. The starting bell rang. Serious racers sprinted ahead, and as I moved forward among the clumped huddle of walkers, I began to feel trapped. If this was a race, why couldn’t I get ahead of these slow starters? A competitive spirit soaring into bloom, I dodged and darted, trying to move through the sea of people at a quicker pace. As I rounded the bend near the park’s central statue with my friends, a lady pushing a stroller with a gurgling baby turned and smiled. Holding up a camera, she asked, “You’re not in that big a hurry, are you?” I shook my head, automatically obliging--how could I say no to a smiling young mother? Then the camera jammed . . . and as I fiddled with the equipment, my companions rounded the bend and disappeared among the sea of walkers. Several minutes later, photo mission complete, the woman thanked me, and I sprinted forward onto the Laurel Street Bridge. From the high bridge perspective, runners way, way ahead looked like grasshoppers on the closed-to-cars highway below. I’d be there soon, walking the same highway they ran, and looking like a grasshopper to the stragglers left on the bridge above. Realizing just how far back I’d become, I settled into a comfortable pace, forgetting the race part of the event. Those running ahead may make the finish line first, but they were missing the good conversation of a friendlier clip. I inhaled deeply of the scents of rosemary and sage wafting out from the herb garden, witnessed the sun’s first golden rays peeking through the cloud cover. The sunlight sparked rainbows in the dewdrops, made them shine like faceted diamonds lying like spilled pirate’s booty in the early morning grass. Around me, bits of others’ conversations pricked at my ears, the joyful laughter and enthusiasm of walkers enjoying each moment on the very path those fast moving racers trod only moments before. From a slower perspective, each instant passed with sights and sounds of its own. Each tiny step covered unique and interesting ground along the way. Up onto Sixth Street, the low beat of blues music drifted on the air. I laughed at a dog on a leash who didn’t miss a single pole or fire hydrant on this joyful march for charity. Around the corner, the freeway onramp came into view. And yes, once there we stopped for a photo. How many times do you WALK onto the Interstate? How many times do you trek along on foot, seeing the curious items tossed from cars and wondering silently about the people who’d tossed them? Curlers and award certificates. A bicycle wheel and a leather whip. What strange and interesting characters had set these items free? Released them as the car sped along so their “trash” flew on the wind? Tumbled along till it caught on a bush or rock, and now rested here like lonely hitchhikers without a thumb to ride? Broken glass glittered, shards of brilliant, multi-colored light that marked the path, pointed to supposed nirvana at the end of the race. But the nirvana was here, I realized, here all along the path. The joy is in the doing. In pursuing your dreams, are you still enjoying the journey? Or do you race along, tackling every task so quickly that you leave joy behind with the cheerful walkers the day of the race? Have you become so competitive that you rush past possible friendships and camaraderie to reach the pinnacle of success? Victory is empty without happy memories of the journey. Besides, once there, a new race begins. On the day of that 8K, I went in with a predetermined goal: Have a little fun and participate for the benefit of adult literacy. Seeing the racers with their quick-paced aim at attaining the prize nearly knocked me off my personal path. Thank goodness that woman with the gurgling baby needed my help. She unknowingly steered me back to the moment, to the joy of the journey. We may be on the same path, but each runs her own race. Some rush ahead to glorious finish lines we only dream about. Others lag behind, needing a leg-up along the way. Do you stop to help? Or are you so single minded in focus that envy, frustration or even conceit take over? Have you forgotten to enjoy each step, each person you meet along the way? Celebrate each success, each failure. Then every step--or misstep--is a joyous victory in and of itself.
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