In a world where attention is the new currency, I find myself rich in distractions but poor in focus. My mind flits from one fleeting thought to another, like a man walking down a busy street, questioning why he’s “soft in the middle now.” With my latest fitness tracker of choice ticking up with each footfall, each step is a reminder of habits I thought I’d left behind.
“Why am I so soft in the middle?” I ask myself, feeling the weight of complacency settling in. I’ve worked hard, yet here I am, feeling alone and a bit lost, much like someone searching for a photo opportunity or a shot at redemption to break free from the mundane.
It’s like walking ahead of your family on a beach at magic hour—the beauty of the moment overshadowed by the creeping paranoia of impending darkness. The soft sand becomes a metaphor for self-doubt, each step sinking deeper. Yet, as night falls, my eyes adjust. I find my footing and notice my resolve strengthening, rising above the waistline of commitment. Confidence surges, and I feel like I could maintain this pace indefinitely.
But then, I allow myself to ease up, usually on a downhill stretch—not just to catch my breath but to savor the fruits of my labor. Perhaps I pause for a selfie-worthy moment, capturing a snapshot of victory or reflection. And that’s when I realize I can no longer see my family. I’m alone, walking in the darkness.
“What if my journey ends here?” I wonder, facing the embrace of obscurity.
For every downhill, there seems to be a disproportionate number of uphills. The quest for a leaner existence is mocked by nature’s laws, demanding a tithe of time and effort far exceeding the fleeting joys of achievement.
Pushing onward, I unwittingly venture off course. The only light is the dappled drops of moonlight squeezing through the skeletal branches of Tim-Burton-style trees. Then, the paw steps. A crackle of leaf litter followed by a feral, unfriendly growl that stays just within the shadows, echoing behind me just close enough to push my pace and race my heart. So I turn and bare my teeth, showing those mutts I don’t find them threatening or enjoyable. Not anymore.
Ahead, the faint but familiar glow of my porch light twinkles—a beacon in the storm. I just have to stay on course. Yet, as my mind relaxes for a moment, the ground shifts beneath me, and I realize I’ve wandered into a bustling marketplace in an unfamiliar country.
“Where am I, exactly?” I ask anyone who notices me. They smile and nod and they point. Neither of us understands the other, but we are too polite to admit it. My voice is lost amidst the scatterings of local customs. Spinning thoughts scatter any focus I had, leaving useful ideas orphaned along the way.
Sometimes, though, I remember to pause. Just for effect.
I try to refocus on the harmony of it all, to trust in the ebb and flow of faith and certainty. In these rare “amen and hallelujah” moments, I recognize the divine blueprint of our lives. Often, I realize I’m not alone. When we share our anxieties with someone we trust—and they with us—there’s power in partnership. Together, we can face the unknown. In this alliance, fears become shared challenges, and the weight of the world feels a little lighter on our shoulders.
In the embrace of those who know us—who call us by names earned, not given—we find our true selves.