If you were cautiously side-eyeing the Obituaries section of the news to make sure my name wasn’t there, I’d like to now assure you I am still very much alive.
Your life looks like so much fun, the message began. I’ve been following you for a while and I’m so jealous! I wish my life was like yours.
So, I’m going to ask a favour of you: Please don’t exploit our friendship.
Elbow to elbow, we took turns mixing salads and cutting desserts or passing plates to the next in line.
There’s no shortcut. No magic pill. No single exercise or activity to fix it – it’s never-ending, a gift, and, frankly, it’s a massive responsibility.
I stop at every crosswalk because cars can drive away, but not stopping could mean that I never run again.
My heart breaks as I’m biting my tongue to try to not to rush to F’s defence; letting him cry it out when he’s done wrong and had to be disciplined; watching him try to fix things for himself.