About the Verb ‘To Run’

Sometimes you just need to run.
Do a warm-up.
Stretch out your stiff, sedentary legs.
Squat down for a low start.
And three-two-one—go!

Run.
Not away from yourself.
Because no matter how well-trained you are, this person will immediately… somehow catch up to you.

Not away from your husband.
Because he is not someone you’d ever want to escape from.

Not away from home.
Because I feel safe and calm there.

Not away from the children.
Because they are, in principle, goodness and the meaning of life.

Not away from work.
Because I love it unconditionally, and I feel myself riding its sled every day, sensing its little stirrings.

But sometimes, you just have to run.
From nothing.
And from everything.

Just so that you can ask the one beside you:
“How are you?”

Without the background hum of the washing machine.
Without the oven beeping, warning it’s time to call everyone to the table.
Without the dishwasher demanding to be emptied again.
Without piles of laundry waiting to be sorted.
Without realizing it’s time to go to the store because the fridge is empty again.
Without racing thoughts: who needs to be taken somewhere, or picked up, and when.
Without the duty to walk the dog.
Without the news on TV.
Without evening cartoons.
Without the vacuum humming.
Without shoveling snow.
Without the questions:
“Have you tidied your room?”
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
Without assignments.
Without letters.
Without emails.
Without the daily grind—
which you actually love very much.

But you understand that in the whirlwind of everyday chaos, if there is even a moment to ask:
“How are you?”
There’s barely enough time to answer.

When it’s time to run,
we glance at each other, grateful to generous fate for grandparents
who take care not only of the growing grandchildren, the teenage Mister Ego, but also the home…

We pack a few little “things,”
get into the family car,
and “run” for hundreds of kilometers.

So that the answer to the question: How are you?
can be given while watching slowly drifting boats and flying birds.

And then… after longing for the whirlwind of daily life,
you return to it with great joy and the knowledge
that you have SO MUCH.

Evening toast.
To “escapes,”
and to the grandparents
who give you the chance to hear long, heartfelt answers
to very short, simple questions.
In silence.

Mua,
V.