A few weeks ago, I was taking a long walk down the canal near our home – one of the only activities we can do while properly following the restrictions set in place. I was going down my normal path, the route that I know inside and out at this point. I’ve ran it, I’ve walked it, I’ve walked it while I meant to be running it. Make a left at the church, a right at the local pub that has been closed down since I’ve landed in Ireland but really want to go to, and straight past the Burger King. Usually I walk about a mile or two down the canal. Nothing too far, and since it’s a straight path in a singular direction it’s always pretty simple to find my way back despite being the most directionally challenged person I’ve ever known. But this walk a few weeks ago I decided to change things up. So, at one point – maybe a mile or so past the Burger King – I made a right and turned off of my normal path.
I’d love to tell you exactly where I was, but again, severely directionally challenged. All I know was it was a scene taken exactly from a movie. When I was on the canal it was clear and relatively warm for a February evening. There were dogs walking with their owners, wagging their tails every time they see or smell something new. Children riding scooters, racing and laughing with each other. There was sunlight poking through the trees quickly drying up the muddy ground from the Irish rain earlier in the day.
But then when I turned onto this new street everything seemed to change. The sun set seemingly faster than ever before as I was left in the lonely darkness of the night. A breeze ran through the air and my thin Guess leather jacket just was not cutting it. A few young and athletic people were on runs, but all running the opposite direction from me – like they were running away from something that I was voluntarily walking directly into. Graffiti covered the walls, there were no cars in sight, and other than the moon the only light was a faint lamp post a couple hundred meters away where this apparently cryptic street ended and a new – and hopefully safer – one began.
So I walked to that light. I know it could’ve been very simple to turn around, get back on course with the canal, walk towards the Burger King, and return home. But despite my mind knowing that, my body refused to give in. I was walking this new path, for better or worse. I was already on it, I had no idea what it was going to bring, but I was going to see it through.
At about a quarter of the way through, all of the runners were gone. A little further on I was distracted by all of the dark street art on the walls. Some truly beautiful murals, some very expletive words, and some pretty creative puns regarding the current pandemic (which I found to be very clever and amusing despite holding absolutely no scientific weight or accuracy, but that’s for another post at another time). At about half way I could start to see the end of the street better, encouraging me to keep walking just to get out of this dirty and wretched place. And then I was about three quarters of the way through the street.
Now, before I continue telling the story I really should confess to something. When I came home later that night and told what happened to my community members I definitely made myself out to be this brave, strong, strapping young man. In reality, I was terrified. I realized at that moment that at times I still view myself as who I was at 12-years-old – that pudgy, too-smart-for-his-own-good, dependent kid. In actuality, I am a 6-foot-tall, 200-pound man (for the readers on this side of the pond, that’s 1.82 meters and 90 kg) with a pretty large and thick beard. I recognize that outwardly I can be seen as intimidating or scary. But anyone who knows me knows that is absolutely not the case. Hence why it is hard at times for me to perceive myself the way the world may.
But anyway, I digress.
And then I was about three quarters of the way through the street. There was a man here. To be quite frank I have no idea where he came from. But he was most certainly there, and he wanted everyone else on that street to know he was there too. He had a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag in his left hand, and attempted to hold his pants up with his right. In between sips from the bag and upward tugs of his pants he was screaming vulgar and profane things – things that I most certainly could not type out on a Catholic volunteer organization’s blog. I started to move to the left so I could walk around him, but I soon realized that I was the target of neither his gaze nor his screams.
I looked toward that singular lamp post again, and out of the light I saw exactly what he saw – a beautiful young woman pushing a stroller with a sleeping baby in it. The baby was so peaceful. Wrapped up in a winter’s hat and at least two different blankets so only its little face was exposed, it had no idea of any worry or danger in the world. Its mom, however, did.
She was also trying to move away from the man, but the limitations of pushing a stroller onto grass only allowed her to go so far. The man recognized this, and started walking closer to her, forgetting about the previous tasks his hands were doing allowing the bag to spill and his pants to sag slightly.
Then, to even my own surprise, my mouth opened and in my loudest and deepest voice, I simply said “everything good?” Imagine a high school Vice Principal walking the halls and seeing two kids about to get in a fight, so he raises his voice to let them know that he doesn’t want to get involved, but he will if he has to. That’s pretty much how it sounded. The man looked at me, grumbled, and turned back towards wherever he came from before.
The woman gave me a smile and kept on walking. The baby never woke up from her peaceful nap.
There’s something else that I should confess too. That entire walk I was on the verge of tears – and at times I couldn’t even hold it back. I felt scared, alone, and lost – even before I was actually scared, alone, and lost. You see, I only went on that walk that day because I was in such a low place. At the risk of sounding over dramatic, I felt like my life was crumbling. I didn’t know where to go, what to do, or who to turn to. I was anxious, stressed, and severely sleep deprived. I was lonely but also overwhelmed from the lack of alone time I couldn’t have from a demanding few weeks at work. I was riddled with guilt and arrogance, but also at the same time with self-deprecating thoughts. I only went on that walk, and only made that diversion of my normal course because I felt so bad.
A friend, mentor, and former priest of mine from Boston College, Fr. Casey Beaumier, wrote a book called “A Purposeful Path,” where he tells the story of the begging pilgrimage he made as a Jesuit Novice, having only “$30, a bus ticket, and a dream.” I recently re-read this book in August, to prepare myself for my new journey to Ireland. I highly recommend everyone reading it. It inspires, entertains, and teaches you so much as you go along the journey with Fr. Casey. My story reminded me a lot about it. One of the main messages in his book is that every relationship you have, every action you take, and every decision you make ultimate changes and affects where you end up in life. Even very bad or scary times, like sleeping with rats in the Appalachian Trail (seriously, guys, his journey is wild but so exciting), ultimately lead you to where you are supposed to be.
There’s a passage from the Book of Job that reads “Let him not deceive himself by trusting what is worthless, for he will get nothing in return. He will be like a vine stripped of its unripe grapes, like an olive tree shedding its blossoms.” Who are we to decide what parts of our lives are important or not? Who are we to decide what is supposed to happen to us? We don’t know that path that God has set for us. We like to think we do. And then when something alters that path we like to get upset and angry. But as Fr. Casey found out, and as I realized too on my walk, there’s a reason your path is your path.
I don’t know if that man would have done anything to the woman or her baby. In fact, chances are he was completely harmless and simply just had too much to drink. All I know is that if I wasn’t a complete mess, I wouldn’t have gone on that walk. I wouldn’t have turned onto that street. And I wouldn’t have been there to make sure she was okay, and give her a smile.
Maybe it was just a small step on my path, but it was a step nonetheless.
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
– Psalm 119:105
