Quiet Progress

The fog intensifies. A few days ago, the sun was bright, the path visible. Now it’s an absolute struggle to even distinguish my feet. Hopefully the fog will scatter, but it might take time.

I can’t wait here aimlessly. I must move.

My thoughts, blurred, paralyze me. In the persistent fog, I gesture aimlessly, searching for a landmark – but this energy brings me nowhere.

To make progress through any fog, you have to move. You fear every direction, not realizing that the consequences of staying where you are are even more terrifying. The first step hurts, feels pointless, and leaves you still surrounded by fog. But the second step brings a flicker of hope. You’ve chosen a direction; the light brightens, however faintly.

You fear the next step. You’re not sure it’s the right one. You stop, breathe deeply. Then continue.

I sometimes have this feeling that the fog is definitely gone, and will never come back. I walk fast, accelerate, run. The sun warms my left cheek and brightens my eyes.

I smile again, even become enthusiastic.

Small victories put you in that state. For a short period of time, you feel invincible – as if you’d fought all your demons and they would never come back. But past history tells another story. It teaches you how dangerous it is to claim victory, loudly, when you’ve only just seen through the fog – because it does come back when you least expect it, and it can shut you down.

Expect fog; head toward the sun.

Do better, even when you think you’ve won.