Running Into Myself

“Wow! This place is huge! This is gonna be great.”

He’s in a onesie. It covers his feet with soft fabric. His excitement propels him. He runs into the house, down the hall, into the kitchen. He makes a sliding stop, changes directions, runs back and to the left, into the den. Slides again. Stairs! Tries running up but it’s too steep, his feet too slippery. Almost falls on his ass, laughing. Grabs the hand rail, steps up quickly but in control. As soon as he steps onto the landing he takes off again. Into and out of the four rooms.

Four bedrooms! Shiny floors! This is amazing!

Go ahead. Run. Enjoy this. You will always treasure this moment. The feeling of wonder. At the space. The expanse. The new polished floor. The lack of furniture, of anything. The number of rooms. The freedom. The escape. It won’t last, of course, but for a few brief moments, you come out of your shell. You allow yourself to expand into the space of this new, gigantic house. You’ll remember this feeling forever. I do.

From this moment, you will always love moving. Leaving a place. Letting go. The excitement of discovery, of potential. Leaving the past behind and entering a world of possibility. Of hope. However short-lived.

“You make it sound like it’s not real. Like I’m running away. But I’m not. I know exactly what’s going on here. I’m remembering that I’m still a child. I’m allowing myself to be a child. I’m allowing myself to feel safe. My hope isn’t about the future. I don’t care what comes next. I’m not running away. I’m running into myself.”

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