I started walking down this road again, just recently. I mean that literally, as in walking down an actual road that exists in one of the cities I frequent. I avoided it in for a while because I had to let go of one of the reasons to go there, and well…frankly, it just felt weird and painful to go there again. I picked alternate routes for a while, until I had a long talk with a friend and she told me:Â “You should start walking down that road again. It’s just a road, you know.”
So I decided to start passing by there again. It is just a road, after all. Plus, avoiding it meant I had to spend a little more when I head home after a visit to that city, so convenience and practicality won me over.
The first time I was there I was with some friends, so it wasn’t that bad. The second time, I was alone but it was a holiday so it wasn’t too bad, either. The third time, however, I was so nervous that I speed-walked all the way, and I got so stressed as I got home because I walked in almost panic. Crazy.
What’s the big deal about this? Sometimes I wonder if I am doing the right thing with all that, with making that first choice to avoid, and then changing my mind and going back. It’s just a place. But I’m the kind of person who put too much importance on things like these sometimes, like how I put importance on a type of scent because it reminds me of a trip, or a certain scrap of paper because it came with a gift. I’m sentimental like that. Other people think it’s weird, I know, and I’m pretty sure they’d think I should purge or something, because why am I being such a masochist, anyway?
But the thing is…well, I don’t know, really. I guess this is still me wanting to be brave, to say to the little things and circumstances: No, you will not defeat me. I will not fear you. So I plow on, and walk, because how else can you go down that road if you don’t walk?
And I actually like walking. It can get a bit tiring, but I get something every time I walk. Endorphins, what have you. So…I keep on walking.
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