The thing about falling is that the earth is always there to catch you. There is a bottom and you can touch it and spend an hour or an afternoon in it and then reach up and pull yourself out of it. Because you must.
Navigating a solo adventure is a challenge because you own the role of both captain and co-pilot. I have to trust myself and my compass that West is West, but the truth is, I can’t read a map. I can’t even fold a map. And so, like every trip that involves the George Washington Parkway, I get lost. I take wrong turns and U-turns and sometimes I pull over and cry and it’s all part of the journey. I have to make room for it in my life, allow extra time for it in my commute. And the lesson for the week is that there is no glory or grandeur to be found in enduring the loneliness, no rewards for martyrdom. There is no shame in asking for help. In saying, I was wrong. In telling your friends, you’re happy they’re home. In telling your mother, you’re happy she called. In confessing that I need you.