10,000 fucking steps

When my mom was still alive, she was one of those people who loved getting her 10,000 steps in. It made her feel good to know that she was, on a daily, or somewhat daily basis, hitting that basic-but-important milestone. When we would spend the day together in the city, she would be thrilled that she far surpassed the 10,000 step marker.

If you know me, you know that I am like this too. Not the steps thing, specifically, but the idea that if you do a little bit each day, if you put the work in, eventually over time you will get the things you want. Working towards something makes sense to me. Random acts of god or luck or fate do not.

Recently, I was at a bar and someone in my group made an off-handed comment that they don’t like using airpods because they think blasting their bluetooth will give them cancer. Ok, sure. I don’t like airpods because I think they look weird and will fall out of my ears. Also they’re bad for the environment. But I digress.

I tried to explain to this person that in all likelihood, that’s probably not what will give you cancer and they said that I was right - what you eat gives you cancer. And again, I was like uh, I mean, maybe, but lots of people who get cancer have access to healthy food. To which he replied well, not everyone has the will.

??????

Anyway I left the bar and cried and cried and cried.

Granted, I had already felt pretty raw because earlier that day I had been looking at the last pictures my mom and I took together, pictures from the last birthday of mine she was alive for. But it occurred to me: I can write every day and I can work out every day and see my friends and go on dates with boys, and sure, doing all of those things might bring me closer to the life I someday hope to have - but no matter what, there will always be a giant asterisk next to my name because my mom died. And not like I was in my 50s and she was in her 80s or something, but I was in my 20s-not-settled-down-yet-went-through-something-horrible-lost-my-mom. It’s pretty easy to go through the motions of what you think you’re supposed to be doing to get the things that will make you happy without ever even realizing that you still feel pretty badly and no matter what happens in your life, even if you do eventually get those things you want, there will always be a piece missing. And I can’t lie, filling my life with reps of all kinds instead of figuring out how to feel full or fulfilled is exactly what I’ve been up to lately.

I don’t really have any answers, obviously, beyond that you still need to take the steps. That’s how you get places. But for me, perhaps a robotic fixation on achieving my goals instead of uh, having feelings, is not quite the way forward.