The pause at the top

There's one staircase you know by heart. The one at the station. The climb to your front door with the grocery bags. The stairs at church. You had a system for it. Start slow. Save the talking for later. Stop at the top and pretend to check your phone. You had a whole routine for one flight of stairs.

You had a story for it too. Getting older. Out of shape. It closed the subject nicely, so nobody reopened it. The cigarette ran up the bill and let your birthday sign for it. Some of what you called age may have been that tab. You never checked, because the story was comfortable.

God built bodies to mend, and He keeps yours at it on shifts you sleep through. With the cigarette out of the picture, that work goes on at its own pace. Nobody can promise exactly what's changed for you. Dodging that flight when you could has kept the answer hidden. The stairs will tell you the truth.

Take that staircase this week at a normal pace. Skip the slow start and the phone at the top. When you get there, stand still for five seconds and notice. Whatever you find, you climbed it without a plan. That's a small freedom, and it's yours. Say it to yourself on the landing. I take the stairs now.