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Bags…

Bags…

A bag is defined as 1) a container material with an opening at the top, used for carrying things, 2) an assortment or collection especially of nonmaterial things.

My bare arms and legs were exposed in my shorts and t-shirt on the cold tiled floor as I lay grasping at the last moment of the coolness from the shadowed floor. The hard coffee-colored tile of the landing was a comfort to the increasingly warm spring morning on the island. As I lay on the floor I am lost in my thoughts of the morning at the park. Across the street was an escape from the chores of having to clean my room or do the dishes, we could fly on the magic carpet of the swing set, climb the Grand Canyon of the monkey bars, or slip on the glaciers of the slide never actually having experienced the moment of being in these places I could however, imagine them from the stories my parents brought home from their trips. A vast open space that was the Kapolei community center which was locked and never seemed to be used. A large cream colored building at the center stained from the red dirt that lay on the ground full of oxidized iron the dirt on the island always painted my clothes never seeming to escape the small ridges of the textured pants and shirts. Directly behind the building was a large open space with two baseball fields. Surrounding them were fences turned orange from the weathering of the natural world. I seemed to always find myself running my hands along them feeling the textured ridges sharp in some places and crumbles in others. The fence always turned my fingers orange I simply looked at them and proceed to wipe my already painted shorts. My vision took me towards the left of the open space to a basketball court where my brothers played a game of ‘horse’ another fence on the far side separated the court from the neighborhood. Tall grasses grew along the side of the fence hiding small homes from the kittens left behind. The park became a home for the stray kittens that no longer had a home to stay. As I walked the fence I could hear the rustling in the grass as the kittens shutter at the sound of my feet trampling around. As I sit and reflect on the moment spent at the park early that morning I am quickly interrupted by the placement of a large green bag.

Green canvas placed by the door, to the touch it felt rough under the grooves of my fingers similar to that of the green lizards that lived in the hibiscus bushes along the front yard. My fingers tremble as I move from one end to the other. Three straps symmetrically placed in the center to stabilize the weight of the supplies. My heart raced with the anticipation of what was coming. I looked at the bag with disdain, I looked at the bag awaiting the news. As I watched the bag from across the landing I thought to myself who was leaving? How long would they be gone? Where were they going? The questions of uncertainty were always left unanswered, I sat across the landing anxious to know.

The last time it was Dad, in one moment he was here and the next he was carrying a green canvas out the door. I watched as he placed the bag in his red GMC Jimmy one last hug goodbye tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t let them drop. I held myself sturdy with an understanding of the duty at hand. Outwardly I was strong and rooted with the responsibility to help with the care of the animals, house chores, and homework. Inwardly I was lost in the sense that a part of me was leaving and I was hopeless to stop it. A limb was being severed and it was something I had to live without unknowing as to why I couldn’t live with it in that moment. With every goodbye it was continuously ripped from the socket. I learned how to live without it, I learned to not need it, I learned to use the other limbs that remained. I realized later that it wasn’t learning to live without the limb that was the challenge, it was learning to reattach the limb afterward. As I watched the red jimmy disappear down Makakilo hill I was angered, I stood in the driveway a moment too long. Barefoot, the cement cooked my little toes as though it was a piece of spam sizzling in a frying pan.

A loud noise from the deck interrupted my thoughts, I redirected my vision to provide myself a sense of what was occurring. Lady, the auburn haired golden retriever had knocked in to the white glass top table spilling a plastic cup of water. I watched as gravity pulled the water from the table to the ground, each drip rhythmically initiated a small tapping, a result from the the initial crash. The coffee-colored tile was beginning to warm with the rising temperatures, maneuvering onto my knees and elbows to a standing position I step down the cream-colored carpeted steps a comfort to my already callused feet. I walked to the deck and collected the empty cup, I am welcomed by the gentle leeward breeze. It picked up my hair and twisted it in place as though the strands close together danced to a slow melodic song. I took in a deep breath of air with a hint of added salt from the evaporated water of the Pacific Ocean. Linear streams of clouds decorate the periwinkle-colored sky as though it was celebrating a birthday with streamers, however to me they were just a reminder of what was coming.

The afternoon approached quickly and the green canvas bag remained at the door, the vertical brown door etched with abstract designs that was my parents room, remained closed. The sound of animal planet bled from the tv, my brothers sat and watched as my attention lingered to and from the green bag. At a distance I noticed black ink printed in to the design of the bag, if I could get that much closer I’d know who was leaving I thought to myself. On my hands and knees I crawled back up the stairs like a cat stalking their pray, I made it to the top of the coffee-colored tile once more and suddenly the dark brown abstract door opened I gasped in seized shock, I finally had my answer.

Fresh polish stained my nose from the glassy black boots that met my face on the coffee-colored tile. Black laces to match perfectly tied so the eyelets matched symmetrically on either side. A hint of smooth black socks sat comfortably in the shoes although I couldn’t see I thought what an immaculate sight of perfection in just a pair of boots. My eyes reluctant to look up found my curiosity pulling them like magnets in a upward direction. The boots hugged the ankles and the pants were folded pastry-like seams and placed directly to either side. The blue camo-like design digitally placed on the clothing material in a combination of colors ranging from sky blue, dark teal, and navy blue. As my eyes made their way up so did my stance as I found myself standing eye level to the insignia that would render my inquisitive investigation of that bag. An open winged eagle at the top, and three arrow-like stripes gracing the bottom. This time it was Mom.

“Your father and I have something to tell you and your brothers” she spoke and I let my eyes meet her gaze briefly before looking away and simply saying “okay.” My feet felt like a cast iron pan as each toppled down the steps into the living room where my brothers choices of entertainment meshed into the colorful world of cartoon characters. The immaculate polished boots followed down the cream-colored carpet in a more purposeful direct action. The colorful cartoons radiating off the television quickly evaporated in to a black and white still picture as we were placed on the mint green striped white couch in birth order. She stood as though she was at attention admiring her three children, I suppose in that moment she was taking a last look at the curious faces we held just before revealing the “big” secret that we all knew anyways. She knelt to the cream-colored carpet humbly expressing her empathetic explanation of the disappearing act she was about to make in our life. She appeared soft to the hard exterior of the uniform she was wearing. She spoke in a singular tone direct, serious, and heart-felt, although I stopped listening my eyes wondered out the sliding glass door to the wonders of the backyard. She spoke about the responsibilities around the house, as well as the homework we would have to finish, wearing our uniforms to school, and cleaning our rooms. She spoke directly at us and told us to behave for our father and I couldn’t help but release a quick mischievous grin, but it was gone quicker then it appeared. As she finished her well thought out guidelines no one said anything, we simply sat awaiting the moment she would walk out the door. My words were not found, but my face could have said it for me a silent morose attitude as I sat in the middle of my two brothers. If my face could talk for me it would have said something in anger with an undertone of sarcasm and disappointment. This was not helpful so it’s a good thing my face can’t talk, I stayed silent with the look of annoyance and resentment. I only saw things from my perspective, a daughter being left with my brothers and dad, who would be able to nurture my sensitivities from a hard day at school, or drive us to the beach while singing “truly, madly, deeply,” who would cook us dinner or activate our imaginations with stories? I suppose it wouldn’t be easy for her either, but she was always so strong she never cried, she let go so well, she seemed to ignore the fact that she would be away from ‘us’ for one hundred eighty three days. The conversation ended and the questions I was thinking dissolved, I could never ask her, maybe she was hurting too?

One last meal, an early dinner of ‘Panda Express’ the milk-stained brown table was covered in placemats and every piece of flatware that anyone person could possibly use. Paper towels for napkins and plastic cups full of water to the addition of the green, orange, and yellow of the beef broccoli, orange chicken, and lo mein. Very little words were exchanged in that moment we all ate in silence, the plates were cleared in a team-like fashion as to show my mom we were all capable of being the children we needed to be when she was gone.

The green canvas bag, was finally lifted in one swoop, as though there was nothing in it, like a feather that was simply misplaced. However, the green canvas bag held more, it was the lingering reminder that replaced my parents with a lonely emptiness engulfing the house in their absences…

Bags are good to hold a collection of non material things, however, bags can also collect moments in life. In our minds we compartmentalize bags based on memories we’ve held on to, memories that mean something to us. These memories can be both positive and negative and like all bags they need cleaning and organizing. It can be hard sometimes to let go of the bags of “stuff” we collected because they are part of our stories, without the bags we may be a completely different person. It is okay to let go of the bags, bags are specialized in all kinds of shapes and sizes what bag we used as a kid no longer useful to the bags we now use as adults. The green canvas sea bag rough under the ridges of my fingers is one bag I’ve been trying to clean myself. We cannot forget to exchange the bag for one that will be more useful and in the process reorganize the material inside them as well.

The bags you carry don’t need to be baggage…

-Kalyn Danielle

 

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How I See…

Sewing needles pricked my feet and legs, throbbing from the freezing temperatures of the Atlantic Ocean’s bath in the month of September on the North Eastern state of Maine. The air temperature was cooler than I was used to, the land was dressed in trees that reminded me of Christmas. The leaves on others looked red, yellow, and orange as though they were spoiling from being left out of the fridge. The breeze swept across my body, resulting in a reaction of small bumps to warn me of this new cooler environment approaching. I stood looking into the vast dark blue color of the Atlantic Ocean it looked cold, it looked grey, a thunder cloud not welcoming even when the sun shines overhead. The sandpaper texture of the small pebbles stuck to my wet feet, the sand was very course filled with larger pieces of shells and rocks. What was this new place filled with dark seas and rough sands? I was introduced to my new home taken away from the softness of my previous inhabitants…this new place was dead and dark…I miss the warmth, life, and lightness of the small island I once called home. This other unfamiliar place was not welcoming so I decided not to embrace it, instead I looked back at the past hoping one day to be reunited to my “home” once more.

I took my eyes from the dark sea and followed the horizon my first glance stopped at a far reaching island from where I was standing I measured an inch, continuing the horizon stopped again with a much larger island with a house close to the shore it was surrounded by large shale rocks protecting the soil from falling in to the water surrounding it from all sides. The house was white and appeared to have no one living there. The house was dark and a few fir trees were the only company that was provided to the lonely white house. I followed the path from the house through the water back to my feet, which were now turning a slight purple color a feeling. I had yet to experience the pain that over came me the tips of my toes aching as though someone was hitting them with the sharp end of a hammer. The appearance shifted slightly pink at the ends as well. I took this as a sign to walk over and place my shoes on my feet in the safety of the driftwood. My curiosity however had consumed my desire for warmth, so I composed a small workout involving jumping jacks, sit ups, and small sprints to warm my spirits and bring some blood back to my little toes. I found myself wondering to the other side where large shale rocks extended out to the ocean they were much taller than me measuring at least two fir trees on top of one another. Each was a different layer on top of the next. Some jutted out further than others providing a natural step, what to do better than to climb to the top inching my way against the hard rock in my slippers and ungloved hands I thought to myself. The wind at the top blew much more furiously I needed to situate my feet so I didn’t topple back down the side of the double fir tree “mountain” side. I found the horizon once again and continued following it until it cut the land where cliffs blocked any remaining horizon.

At this point the time we had spent at this new place was determined by the retreating ocean revealing the treasures beneath as I stood on land. It continued to creep backwards revealing larger rocks and slippery material ranging in color from dark brown, forest green, to a darker cranberry color, dense material. I would realize later that this was seaweed only having seen it on spam musabi prior. As I walked closer towards the retreating ocean it continued to reveal other treasures these were collected in tide pools. A small spiral shell with soft mussel material within them that quickly retracted when touched. In another a small crab the size of my little finger nail scuttled from side to side to confuse any onlookers. A closer observation of the pool appeared to have an almost invisible insect-like organism moving quickly along the tide pool with two antennas and a curled tail…a premature shrimp I would learn later. A small white sharp rock-like material hugged the larger rocks. Smaller at the top with a beak-like mouth directly in the center of the top. These organisms covered much of the rocks as well as a green-brown paper-like material with bubbles at the end it laid on the rocks like blankets covering it from the wind blown air. In between these larger rocks were oblong-shaped shell-looking material with one side matching the other. A spine connected the two sides and looked like you could open it to reveal its pages and the secrets that lay inside. The outer material was hard and was painted with different variations of blue and purple.

I placed the shell back where I had found it and continued my search. However, at this point I had lost much feeling in my hands and feet to the coldness of the water. I forced myself to retreat back to the warmth of the car. The walk back to the was long leaving me several chances to revert my eyes back to the treasures the ocean revealed to me that day. A small gift to welcome my resistant young self to this new cold, dark, and dead land. Perhaps, I wonder to myself this place is not dead, but in need of uncovering the life to find the warm light in all the cold dark…this thought lingered in my head that day and continues to linger in my mind as I reveal new pieces everyday. Perspective is a funny thing it can be the difference between how well feel and how we see in any one moment. I always strive to shift my perspective that way I can learn how others see the world as well. There is much to learn when you step outside your perspective, this is just a little of how I see…

-Kalyn Danielle

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Running out of the Void…

Running out of the Void…

October’s beauty along Maine’s northern coast was painted in reds, yellows, and oranges, the trees were heavy, drooping towards the road as though they were ready for a long rest. The petrichor of the asphalt was potent radiating from the slight precipitation allowing gravity to pull it down towards the ground, my head, and arms. Cool to the touch but quickly warmed by my body. 38,001, 38,002, 38,003, was occupying my thoughts taking one step at a time getting just slightly closer to the destination. My breath was heavy, but calm reminding me of why I was there in the first place…

To Whom This Concerns,

I let you inside my head, I gave you power, I let you take a piece of my confidence, I let you have a part of my aspirations, but I am still here. Thank you for all the pain you gifted to me, thank you for all the tears I’ve cried, thank you for the void you’ve provided. I first noticed you in early February you were a slight twinge, a small instigator. I was able to ignore you that’s what I was best, you’d go away on your own right?

With every new step my breath became much more heavy, much more labored the break down of glycogen was occurring to ensure I could continue each new step. At this point lactic acid was forming in the upper and lower sections of my legs it burned as a warning signal to my brain to stop, but I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. I was running out of the void, out of the empty space, out of the state of being without something, out of the hollowness…

Wrong. You laughed, the more I tried to ignore you the more power I gave you. Doing the damage physically and mentally scarring me…but I didn’t know. I fed your appetite with the lack of nutrition and the caffeine in my veins, you survived and got stronger with every sleepless night. I was falling deeper into your black hole into the emptiness you provided, eventually only escaping the pain through Diphenhydramine citrate, you laughed again because you fed off the combination of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen compounds placed perfectly in a line just the way you like it.

40,001, 40,002…counting helped distract from the oven-like burn of lactic acid in my legs, and the sharp knife-like stabbing in my right shoulder. 40,098, 40,099 pain is subjective to everyone I’ve come to realize that and it is characterized both positively and negatively. Pain is a void and is experienced physically and emotionally. I like many others have experienced both kinds of pain. 40,151, 40,152, it separates individuals in any one moment. Physical pain being experienced in a loved one can create emotional pain in another. Pain interacts with everyone differently and individually. Pain is a basic bodily sensation induced by noxious stimulus received by naked nerve endings, characterized by physical discomfort, and typically leading to evasive action…

You crept from my body to my mind, I let you have all of me, I wanted it to be concluded, I wanted your control released. I was losing to you and I had accepted that. I fell deeper into your darkness ignoring any hope of solution, resolution, or response. Sleep was my escape and I allowed myself to accept the satisfaction of slumber. It brought thoughts of warmth, happiness, and ease. I liked the mask you placed over my mind shielding me from your grasp as to distract me ever more just before you finished your work.

40,552, 40,553 with every new step I realized what I could have been missing, the slight breeze scented with salt engaging my lungs breathing deeply relaxed the sensation of tiredness. The echos of laughter and cheers unfurled my brow soften my complexion and reversed the shape of my unbending mouth. The warmth of the sun peaking past the heavy clouds reflecting its light off of the asphalt…40,999, 41,000 with every breath was a relief, a response, a resolution a reason to be in this moment, a reason to let go, and a reason to live…

You didn’t win though, you didn’t have a chance to finish your work, I found a way to take the mask off and open my eyes. I have fully formed fibroblasts from the scars I let you leave. They linger in my colon, on my arms, and in my mind, but only as a reminder of the shackles you once held. Thank you for the strength you provided, for the confidence, for the pain because I now know how to structure my limits you provided a standard that I will constantly surpass.

55,332, 55,333…55,334 the loud speaker from the distance was announcing in a muffled tone the names and numbers, people I didn’t know yelling “keep going” and “you’re almost there” as I approached the point of two tenths of a mile, I looked in to the faces of people on the sidelines energetic, happy, and encouraging all who pass. As I approached the point of two tenths of a mile tears accumulated in my eyes, sweat was dried to my face, and I couldn’t feel my feet. In this moment I had completed twenty-six miles, but still two tenths to go. It is funny how long that distance seemed considering I had just run twenty six miles, its as though the route was taunting and challenging me in that last two tenths…

Thank you for all the opportunities you took from me, for if you hadn’t I would have never known how to challenge myself. I would have never known how strong I could be, I would have never known what it really meant to live life to the fullest. You provided perspective on my life that I’ve since embraced and only you could have given me that. Although we are now stuck together you’ve given me more reason to be present, let go of myself, and keep you at bay. Forever Thank you inflammatory bowel disease, Crohn’s Disease, or whatever you’d like me to call you…now I’m going to get things done!

Sincerely,

The person living outside the Guts.

55,445…it took me fifty five thousand four hundred and forty five steps, four hours and fifty six minutes to run my first marathon. It was by far not the best time, but I carried myself standing tall and smiling all the way because the pain I captured during my diagnosis helped me with the pain I felt in the marathon. I smiled at the pain as it took me to a new level that I would have never otherwise known. As I took that step passed the line I was immediately welcomed by strangers as the announcer called out my name and number what I remember about that moment was how happy I felt, the high in the moment of finishing a marathon was as addicting as cuddles on a snowy morning… “Kalyn first marathon finisher” will ever be in my head as a reminder to the girl a year prior couldn’t even finish one mile without stopping. I will not be that person again and that’s okay because we all grow and with growth we learn, we gain perspective, and we take a step. I have since completed a half marathon and a 10k this is only the beginning…I have colored a new picture and will continue running out of the void…I extend my hand to those who want to run with me…

What Color Are You…

What Color Are You…

When I was younger I loved to color, I was the type of kid that colored within the lines because I liked the control of having the colors within the pictures. The tools I used to color was of course a coloring book, but also a box of 24 crayons. In that box of crayons I of course had my favorites yellows, purples, and oranges these were used often whereas other colors such as grey, brown, and blues weren’t used much at all. As I have grown I realize life is like a box of crayons you have those colors that you rely on and then you have those that you don’t. In the largest box of crayons there is 120 different colors, even with all those choices life still has a way of introducing a new color as they walk through the door and your box of 120 needs more room.

We are all painters and colorists in this life always adding colors to our canvas in hopes that one day it will be harmonized. We all have a color scheme some may describe ourselves in one color more so then another, but each of these colors are added to complement, to harmonize, and to support us. Our box of crayons doesn’t exist with only one color such as in life each new color creates an opportunity to support, complement, or harmonize a part of our canvas.

You will find colors that will complement yours they will be your opposites providing a sharp contrast between the two, this can really make life “pop,” but the overuse of this combination will be tiresome overtime. Embrace the complements in your life, but be cautious of the vibrancy.

You will find colors in this life that are analogous these will sit next to you, they will support you, and they will accent you throughout your canvas. These colors in your life will balance and harmonize parts of your canvas. Take care of the analogous colors in your life for they will help you stand out.

You will also find colors that are triadic to your own color, these colors will be very bright and dynamic when they come together. Triadic colors are described as such for the visual contrast and simultaneous harmony allowing each to stand out while creating an overall balance. Cherish the triadic colors in your canvas for each needs the other for support.

Your box of crayons will also be described in temperature, warm colors are energetic, bright, and exciting where as cool colors are cool, peaceful, and serene we need to remember each color adds value to your box of crayons and we shouldn’t discount any of them.

Hue are you? Hues are a combination of tints, tones, and shades. We have all been tinted such that white has been added to lighten and brighten our colors, we have also all been shaded such that black has been added that has darkened our color. With every tint and shade however, a new color was added to our box of crayons we learn from every tint and shade that is mixed in our color. Grey’s also make an appearance in our lives mixing with our colors causing a shade in which reduces our colors to appear more subtle, be careful of the grey’s in your life for they reduce the potential brightness of your color.

What is your favorite color? Why is it your favorite color? Could it be a representational of how you see yourself or a reflection of how you want others to perceive you? Color itself is a perception our eyes observe an object and information from our eyes is wired to our brain to tell us what color is. I have had three favorite colors in my life each described during different points of my existence.

Yellow: My earliest memory of having a favorite color was described as being yellow. Yellow is the brightest color associated with competence, happiness, cheer, optimism, and youth, however yellow can also be described as cowardice, deceitful, and cheap. Yellow was my favorite when I was around the ages of 7 through 10. Yellow is a warm color complements purple, analogous to orange and green, triadic to blue and red.

Purple: My second favorite color was purple interestingly enough is the complement of yellow. Purple is associated with communication, creativity, imagination, authority, sophistication, power, wealth, prosperity, mystery, wisdom, and respect. Also being healing and spiritual it is a cool color that doesn’t grab the attention of the onlooker. This was my favorite color from the ages of 10 through 15. Purple is a cool color complements yellow, analogous to red and blue, triadic to green and orange.

Orange: My current favorite color is orange I have come to associate myself with this color the most it can be described as a color full of energy, vibrancy, fun, happiness, energetic, warmth, ambition, excitement, and enthusiasm. It can also be used to describe a cautionary tale, considered a warm color complements blue, analogous to red and yellow, and triadic with green and purple.

It seems as though my favorite colors described myself during different points in my life, my favorite color changed when I was 10 years old. This is also the age that had the most influence in my thought process. I went from yellow full of cheer, happiness, and optimism a warm color to purple full of mystery, wisdom, and power a cool color. The change in color from yellow to purple to me represented a complete change in the way I thought I went from a kid that was happy and open to someone who was cold and closed off. I have finally been able to harmonize my current canvas of my life describing myself in orange. I have found myself in the warmth, ambition, and excitement once again and will continue as I find colors that help complement, support, and harmonize around me.

Life is full of different experiences, people, and choices each of which provides a new color that we will add to our box of crayons whether we want them or not it stands as a reminder of the lessons we’ve learned. The more colors in our box the more opportunities we have to teach others about the power of color.

“Color in a picture is like enthusiasm in life” – Van Gogh

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Sole Searching…

#7: Shoes – a covering for the foot, typically made of leather, with a sturdy sole and not reaching above the ankle.

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Is there ever a thought that crosses your mind as to how many steps you take in your lifetime? There are different technologies now that tell us how many steps we take in a day, but do we ever think about what it took to gain that achievement? What piece of ground our sole touched as we achieved this small goal?

Shoes I think are under appreciated for how often they are used we wear them everyday, we complain about them when we’ve stood for long periods of time, and we accessorize with them. They protect us from the outside grime of the streets, bathrooms, and cafeteria grounds. We sympathize with them when something sticks to the bottom, but also squish bugs without hesitation.  They are a piece of the equation to helping us live through this organic experiences, a tool, and an extension of our outer being. Made up of simple materials it is something we all have in common, a piece of everyone’s day no matter where you work, or who you are, we protect our feet because we are mobile beings.

My first pair of shoes were a small pair of pink baby booties all one material that slipped over the toes of my brand new feet. They kept me warm when I was cold, and protected against too much sun exposure, but mostly I think they were an accessory to the cuteness factor of being a brand new baby…

The shoes I wear now are of a different caliber some are flat, others are high, and a few are sporty, but they each share a commonality, they are all very worn. I have thirty-five pairs of shoes…I understand my collection may seem extensive, but before you comment I will tell you each of these pieces of my closet hold a significance. They represent experiences of life that we often forget like…getting a new job, how many shoes did you wear before being placed in the current pair of shoes you now hold? How many steps did you take to get there? How many soles did you go through in searching for the moment you are currently in? They provide a small memory to the places I’ve been, the types of shoes I’ve worn are representative of the types of “hats” other people wear. There are several combinations types of shoes that have carried me depending on what activity I was participating in.

We all take many steps in our life just based around the activities we choose to participate in…here are a few of the steps I’ve taken over the last several years…

8,125…the number of steps to play a soccer game

55,334…the number of steps to run a marathon

400,896…the number of steps to climb a Mt. Washington trail

45,000,000…the number of steps to Graduate college

Each of the steps you take is representative of an accomplishment, we are all pursuing something in our life that will encourage, inspire, and teach us something different. We are all searching for our niche in our corners of the world. We are all being supported by the shoes we wear, they are unique with different facets, bulky, sleek, or colorful they are representative of our outer personality but, they also support the steps you take towards your goal…

With every step you take your sole makes contact with the ground and what is left behind is a footprint whether it is visible or not, a footprint always follows the step. With every step you take in life, just remember you leave a trail behind of footprints, as a guide for those who come in to your life. Keep a watchful eye and consciously step through every moment understanding the potential contact with the person next to you, the person you haven’t met yet, or the stranger you don’t know. Whom ever you step towards in life introduces opportunities…

Just remember to step with intent while as you find yourself “sole” searching…

-Kalyn Danielle

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