Not for applause. Not for a medal. But because on the other side of a thousand small, balanced steps is a life that feels like your own.
So go ahead. Arms out if you need them. One step. Then another. walk. the line
It calls up an image — someone arms out, one foot in front of the other, balancing on a stripe of paint or a rail, the ground promising consequence on either side. But the older I get, the more I think the line isn’t a tightrope. It’s something quieter. And harder. We spend a lot of time in the gray mush. Not committed, not refusing. Scrolling instead of deciding. Nodding instead of speaking. But walking the line means knowing where the line is — and choosing to stay on it. Not for applause