Daniel closed the door, turning, placing one foot in front of the other. He covered the distance, between the gate and the door, in record time. He’d look back, glance, with all intentions being delicate and pure, but what would be, would be just as it is. He’d come a long way, since his earlier days of strife and confusion, but that still didn’t evade the situations that he often found himself.
As he opened the gate, his emotions flicked from one side of his mind to the other, as he remembered the days where he would not even say ‘boo’ to a goose. He’d travelled since then, explored, developed and created his own new world within the universe created for him by his protective parents.
The gate closing behind him, made a clattering noise as the tepid raid started to descend from the heavens. ‘Typical’, he thought to himself, whilst also muttering other words under his breath. He’d taken step after step, creating a notion of motion from his very emotion. He’d calmed, matured, becoming a work of art from his very own words and actions. He was his very own, solitary, confided, confident problem solver. Too much, too little, with the in between being something unfamiliar to him as well as his friends.
He lifted his jacket hood over his head, feeling the light rain move around him. He’d been here before, the washing away of thoughts, familiarity, as well as the day-to-day spectacle. He wouldn’t call himself a drifter, as he had the usual safe job to undertake, but his very dreams were just that. Drifting. Escaping. Surviving within the wilds of a storm. Grasping the long climb, the adventure and adrenaline of all things. He’d run, tap dance within the very eye of said storm, but life couldn’t and wouldn’t afford him such an escape. The weight of the daily world trapped him, each person around him, to the daily schedule of defined routine.
His brow ruffled at such thoughts. The refined and sampled life reviled him. He’d grasp at normality, but lady luck often threw the dice out of the window and asked him to fetch. He wasn’t one to play by many rules, despite accepting their requirements and limitations.
His bag, to his side, strewn over his shoulder, reminded him to empty a few items upon his next stop. The clutter of life. The dank, dreary, weight of the moments. He had little baggage, despite the little actually amounting to a great, big, crazy deal. He’d been crushed, crafted, thrown and left all in the one sentence within his thoughts. If he could remove all of the sentences, the negative verbs, he truly would. He finally, through all his thoughts, managed to smile at his idiotic meandering. Without the verbs, there might never have been any understanding, any progression, or even anything at all. The scars would bind moments to a life. His life. The wounds vivid and wild, forming the depth to which he’d experienced the world. He would, despite a few actions here and there, have it no other way.
He seldom appreciated his own efforts to secure his own life and wellbeing. He denied himself credit, due or not, for having the strength to rip his heart in two, to remove himself from a place, a situation, a lover, a smothering situation or worse. He’d cried, in silence, away from eyes that judged despite wishing to ask for help. His pride, his resourcefulness, eventually becoming a solid foundation to remain strong. He still had his moments of weakness, of solitude and breathlessness, but that was for the shortest of times.
He was once afraid of taking steps, big, small, even medium, all those years previous. Over the many, many years, he understood and learned that just because he’d taken a step, it did not mean that he had to be afraid or to feel fear. It could be an adventure, an experience, a lifetime event and yet, the next day, almost as if it hadn’t even happened. He’d take the same step, another similar step and it no longer seemed crazy, daunting, or anywhere near as heavy.
It’s what he was used to. That’s how he’d overcome, by taking the steps that he was really afraid of taking. When he really thought about everything, a step would only ever be a step. Moving forward would just be moving forward. Even deciding to stand still, could be a decision. As long as he was aware.
Now, at this moment in time, walking through the rain to destination unknown, he searched for whatever he was afraid of. His mind answered with near silence. He continued to search for a valid answer and, finally, he realised that he was simply, easily, scared of not constantly, taking… steps.