In the year before my mom passed away, she told me out of the blue one day that I never crawled. That I just got up one day and walked. I looked at her intently to make sure she was lucid, because by then, her mind scrambled memories and what kid doesn’t crawl? Her eyes were surprisingly bright though, and she was grinning like that was one of her miracles. Allegedly, I was shy of my first birthday and super short with a big head, so I wondered why she didn’t mention screaming since it had to have been as creepy as watching a bitty alien, right?
I had her tell me about this milestone a couple of times and couldn’t detect any holes in her story, although I also quietly factored in unobserved failed attempts. I wasn’t a crier or showy kid—just determined and a bit sneaky—so the WHOLE truth had to be less fantastical.
Eventually it rang true. I mean, crawling is sort of undignified, inefficient and expected. Plus, there is a lot of hard proof in the years that followed that my endless curiosity, need to explore, try new things and take risks would always drive. So, it is easy to imagine my little daredevil baby-self thinking Let’s do this.
I trust the urge to stretch and push forward with momentum and energy.
It feels like all the best in me is at play when I just Go. For. It.
It feels like all the pretty things dance closer when I take a step towards them.
It feels like home.
I may teeter. I may fall. But I never give up.
That is why I was walking early.
I had places to go, things to see, things to be.
And that spunky trait continues to motivate and inspire me.
Is there a childhood event or memory your parents shared with you that you were too young to remember that resonates as true based on who you are now?