While at work today, I decided to buy my husband a present at the local Border’s Bookstore. Since it’s a reasonably warm day today (all of 38 degrees), I decided to walk. For those of you that know the building that I work in, it’s not a long walk, in fact hard to measure as it’s all commercial space between my desk and the store. I’d guess it’s about 2-4 residential blocks.
Being the basically lazy person that I am, I enjoy traveling the shortest distance between point A and point B – as close to a straight line as I can get. In this case, during the winter, that means that I invariably traverse a plowed snow bank as part of the journey. Otherwise, I would have to travel about twice the distance, and in all honestly, It’s not that warm, and, again, I am lazy.
As I approached the snow bank, I saw that other (fools) have made the same journey. I carefully placed my inappropriately shod feet in the pre-trodden footprints that were established. Clearly, the last fellow to make the trek had size 12-13 shoes, which made me think that the distance my short little legs (I’m 5’2”) would need to span would be too great, and I’d likely end up falling on my butt. I concentrated, and tried my best to balance, and made it without issue.
After successfully procuring the gift, I found myself in need of making the decision – A) go that way again and potentially fall on my face (or rear) in front of the office building, where my colleagues could enjoy the show from the comfort of their desks, or B) double the length of my journey and take the safe way around. Did I mention I am lazy? I chose Option A. Once again, I concentrated and made it through with only one small arm waving incident.
Here’s the point to the story: why do you only think about following someone else’s footsteps when there is physical evidence they were there? Aren’t you always repeating someone’s foot steps, whether it be on the sidewalk, in your yard, at the office, or out in the woods. Our history and land use patterns indicate that almost anywhere you go in a semi-urban area, you are assured that someone else has stepped there before, made the same journey. Perhaps thousands of times. Why don’t we think of those people the same way that I thought of the guy with size 12 shoes today? From your neighbor on the sidewalk, to the hippie at the garden, to the farmer at the well, to the pioneer staking his claim, to the moccasin-clad American Indian whose ancestor tred that piece of land. Aren’t they as important as the guy with the size 12 shoes, or the 5’2” blond chick that almost fell on her face?
Girl Scout Cookies
2 years ago
I've made that walk, I remember that snow bank.
ReplyDeleteThere are few places left on Earth where one could say they are making the first steps, that would be cool.