I want to tell you about a man that walks past my house every day in Dublin.
He’s tall and lean. Possibly late sixties. He has salt and pepper hair and a grey beard. He wears a cream woolly hat. A green parka. And a rucksack on his back.
I don’t know where he’s going, or where he comes from. But there he is. Every single day.
He walks with great difficulty. He has two canes. He uses them to propel himself forward. It takes him some time to walk past my house. To get where he is going. But he gets there. Slow and steady.
Throughout the day I continue to see him. Further along the road. In a different part of the neighbourhood. Still walking. He never falters. He never stops.
When I lift my head and watch him approach my street in the mornings, I am struck by his grace. By his elegance. By the consistency of his movements. I am struck by the calm look on his face. By the calmness of him.
I am moved every day by this man. He is a lesson in resilience. A handout in determination. A guide to grace.
I look at him in awe. As he moves carefully, purposely, down the street. He doesn’t know I can see him. He doesn’t even know I’m there. But every day he gives me a gift. The gift of perspective.
I look out for him now. I smile when I see him. There he is, I think. Moving forwards, always calm, always with purpose.
I measure the weight of the load on my back as I watch him walk past, and suddenly it feels lighter.
I grab my bag and I walk out the door. I know it will take me some time to get where I’m going. But I’ll get there.
Slow and steady, with purpose. Just like him ❤️
