For the last five years, I’ve been looking over my shoulder a lot. Examining my footprints in the dusty soil behind me. I can see the starred imprints of my hiking boots’ treads. The swoopy lines from my non-Nike sneakers. And the V’s of my hiking sandals. Where the balls of my feet would have been are, at times, soft imprints where the tread is stripped away from miles of walking on rocks or tarmac or concreted pavement.

I’ve been staring over my shoulder for so long, I stopped looking at where my feet were going. And I kind of muddled into my Psalm 23 valley. It wasn’t that I strayed. It wasn’t that I was placed there. I was just too focused on where I have been that I didn’t realize that my present was evolving and my body was evolving with the present. But I was so stuck in the past. Stuck in the idea of how I used to act and react to life’s changes. I needed to update my verb.

Used to is such a tacky, gluey Band-Aid. I used to be able to…. This can quickly bleed into the next duct tape Band-Aid of should or could or would. Those verbs softened the treads. Stripped away my sense of where my feet were on the pavement. Masked the ruts and the divots and the gravely potholes that made my feet catch and my ankles roll.

A week ago, I changed my verb. I edited the patterns of my existence and stopped fixating on the space over my shoulder and behind me and noticed the grit in front of me.

Life hasn’t changed. Well. It has. It certainly has. And I guess I’m finally aware that I had to change with it.

Awakening has been a blessing. I found the dignity under my toes, my gangly, disproportionate big toes that have always been my hallmark. I stopped stepping on myself.

I stopped allowing other people to step on me.

Because in my awakening I realized how gray my existence has been. I’ve been slogging through a viscous, steel wool world. Just putting one foot in front of the other with my head bowed against the illusory weight that didn’t exist as heavily as I thought it was. Or felt it was.

I found my backbone again. Notched it against my ribs and touch each vertebrae as though they were prayer beads on a rosary. I found the sense of who I am supposed to be and who I want to be. Not used to be. I’m 53. My body has changed. Time to change with it.

Awakening has been splendid. The steel wool sludge that scraped the textures of my landscape has lifted. I see where I can step. Or want to step. Or, even more importantly . Will step. I changed from the subjective verbs to active. And in present tense.

And when surliness sniped at me in my classroom, I finally stood. And spoke.

It feels good to see the sky once more. To lift my head into the sunlight and breathe in the air’s cleanness. Or at least to grab hold of my own sense of self and not be sundered.

I still check my footprints behind me. It’s good to remember what I experienced. Some by choice. Others by nature. I need to remember to be compassionate to myself.

And to advocate for myself.