The Paths Taken

I push myself out the door
​for a morning walk. 

The sky is dark and dreary.  The air is moist, and it is cold. Gusts of wind sting my eyes.  Within a few yards of my home, my fingertips begin to tingle inside my gloves,

I walk along an urban bike path past clusters of office buildings.  Tucked between the newer constructions and further back from the bike path, there is a small, nondescript structure that is home to a substance abuse treatment center.

As I proceed along the path, I pass a young man walking with his head down, pressing into the wind.  On this cold, wet day he wears worn jeans and a sweatshirt.  He has no coat, no gloves, no hat.   He walks with purpose.  He does not look up or speak when we pass.

On my return, I again walk by the treatment center.  A woman who appears to be of middle age is coming from the parking lot toward the bike path.  She is dressed in leggings and a hooded sweatshirt.  The hood is drawn up tight around her face.  She passes by me, her expression is blank.  I wonder how far she has to go.  I think about how cold she must be.  I wonder if the young man I passed earlier made it safely to his destination, if he will suffer consequences of being unprotected in the cold.

I wonder more about where they each are headed on this path we share, and I wonder about their lives before substances tricked them into giving up all reason and judgment, before they were robbed of health and happiness. 

Passing this clinic today, I realize that I have been lucky.  All of us are just one drink, one pill, one snort, one naïve and reckless day away from walking a different path. 

I walk for enjoyment.  They walk to save their lives.
​
For all those traveling the same path, may the road rise up to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back.

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