It’s all about that one line that totally knocked the wind out of me: “You can’t run forever.”
Let me set the scene. It was just another one of those evenings where you can feel the chill biting through your jacket, making you wish you were home with a hot cup of something strong. But there I was, outside, trying to shake off the kind of mistake that clings to you tighter than your shadow.
So, this old friend of mine, comes out of nowhere, with his “Hey!”
I replied, totally thrown off. “What are you doing here?”
He just shrugged, that old familiar grin spreading across their face. But then, the smile faded as they looked at me, really looked at me. “You know, you can’t run forever,” he said, all traces of joking gone.
I scoffed, trying to keep it light. “What am I running from, according to you?”
“From everything, man. From your past, your mistakes. Heck, from yourself.”
I mean, talk about a punch to the gut. There I was, thinking I’ve been super slick, moving from one place to another, keeping ahead of whispers and the kind of trouble you don’t want catching up to you. We started walking, the night wrapping around us like a chilly blanket.
I’m not gonna lie, it felt like I was standing there with my whole life stuck on pause. “Look,” he continued, “I get it. Running feels like the only option when you’re scared or you’ve screwed up big time. But where does it get you? Just more lonely and screwed up.” He just stood there, it was as if he was waiting for me to say something, do something, anything.
“So what, I just stop and let everything catch up? That sounds like a blast.” I laughed, awkwardly, there was no humor in it.
The silence stretched out, filled only by the distant sound of cars. Then he replied, “Not saying it’s going to be fun, but maybe facing things head-on gives you a chance to fix them. Or at least, live with them without feeling like you’re constantly looking over your shoulder.”
But what do you do when you realize you’ve been running so hard from something that you forgot to actually deal with it? I’ll tell you what I did. After a few moments that felt like forever, I just nodded, kind of acknowledging the truth in those words. There wasn’t going to be any more running. Not because I didn’t want to, but because it suddenly hit me that it wasn’t solving anything.
“I’m not saying you can just turn around and everything will be okay. But I’ve seen you, you’re not happy running. And maybe facing stuff won’t make everything sunshine and rainbows, but at least you won’t be alone. You’ve got people who care about you, who’ll stand by you.”
The weight of those words settled in my stomach like a stone. He was right, and deep down, I knew it. Running hadn’t made things better; it just made me better at avoiding the truth. Since that night, things have been… different. Not easy, but different.
I want to take it one step at a time, start by stopping, and then figure it out from there. I’ve started facing up to stuff, trying to make amends where I can, and learning to live with the things I can’t change. It’s funny, in a not-so-funny way, how admitting to yourself that you’ve messed up is the first step to not feeling like you’re in a constant state of panic. And I know, I wasn’t alone in this.
choro 