Two nights each week I’m on the campus of Bellarmine University, the result of three people sharing two cars (and one of the drivers not having his full license, yet). I don’t mind. It’s quality time with my youngest (driving to and from campus) and a good excuse to exercise (I walk while he’s in an evening class).

Before these twice-weekly jaunts began I imagined loving this time to myself; just me and a podcast, decompressing and maybe sloughing off a pound or two. But something isn’t clicking for me and after three months I’m still struggling to find a good route. Not having a set path makes me hesitant when I’m walking – tense even – unable to find my rhythm, get a good pace going, and let muscle memory give my brain a break. Now it’s almost dark by the time we get to campus and soon it will be cold, too. Guess I’ll have to find another way to kill time on these evenings and try walking again in the spring.

There’s a scene in Lessons in Chemistry (appleTV+) where one character describes the beauty of running something like this: “When you’re sad about your past, unsure of your tomorrow, just put one foot in front of the other. One foot. One foot. One foot. And before you know it, you’re home.”

So much of my life right now feels more like treading water than getting anywhere closer to “home.” It’s been six+ years of one foot, one foot, one foot, but this week I want it in print that I’m not giving up. Even when it feels strange, even when the path’s not mine, even when it’s getting dark, I will keep moving and one day, I still believe, I’ll get where I’m going.