I find myself constantly moving. From the start of the day, as I rush off to work, to the end of the day, as I try and unwind, I feel as if I’m on a treadmill. I run faster and faster on the treadmill but I’m not going anywhere relative to the device. However, the whole contraption (rough treaded belt, rusty wheels, creaky frame) seems to push forward on its own at a steady pace. It moves forward whether I run on it or not. I could stand still, breathe deeply, take a nap on it (uncomfortable as that may in fact be), and it would still keep plugging away. Trees, brush, old man with sign and all, passing by, merely listening to the click clack of my Panzerkampfwagen. Steadysteadysteadysteady.

But I don’t.

I run. Not always at a breakneck speed, mind you, but usually pretty fast (faster lately). Occasionally, I jog or fast walk. Once in a glorious while I shuffle.

When I was in third grade I shuffled everywhere. My teacher stopped me in the halls constantly and chided me for scuffing my feet everywhere.

Pick them up!”

she’d cry. Eventually, I acquiesced and made an an effort to pick my feet up. She stopped squawking. The woman never made it clear to me that sometimes it’s okay to shuffle from place to place, or just in place. I had to learn that on my own.

Sometimes I walk slowly, and sometimes I run like a hellspawn, tripping over my own feet, and screaming like a little girl. The point is I choose to run and I am all the better because of it.

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