The Next Step

The next step. It is what takes us beyond where we have been and at times beyond where we ever could have imagined going. Sometimes we try to plan our next step; what folly! I have discovered that even the most carefully prepared plans can go awry with just one misstep. Elaborate wedding plans can be modified after just one night with one too many tequila shots. Olympian Ice skater Tanya Harding experienced in one step the loss of a lifetime of steps toward a gold medal and Tanya’s misstep was in front of cameras for all to see again and again. Recalling Tanya Harding hitting the ice in public view somehow softens the blow to my own ego as I take my own annual step-turned-spill on the Hudson Valley winter ice. Most of the time no one is witness to what must look terrifically funny and for that I am tenderly grateful.

Some steps have been rewarding. The steps toward a podium to make a speech expressing appreciation for the honor of being selected as ConAgra Foods Foundation’s national Champion Against Child Hunger came with tears of gratitude. The steps I took into the auditorium seats at the high school graduation of my oldest daughter, Megan, came with tears of pride. The steps I took up to the altar to stand with my husband came with joy as we both took our next step, our first step as man and wife.

Sometimes taking the next step is fraught with fear or sorrow. Although I feel at home now at the Culinary Institute of America, my first step into Roth Hall on “Day One” was a step I’ll never forget. The feeling of exhilaration and fear all whirled around like an internal cyclone of emotion simply took my breath away. Sometimes, walking into Roth Hall still does that to me and I hope it always will.

I believe that taking next steps towards new beginnings are among the most difficult things we do. Avoiding those steps can change our course in life as dramatically as if we had the bravery to take them.

There is always a next step. As a new parent, twenty years ago, I begged, bribed and waited to rejoice as I watched my Megan take her first step; but it was the next step that I really celebrated because it was that step that brought her back into my arms.

I’ve watched my daughter Megan take many more steps since then. I watched as Megan stepped onto the big yellow school bus that seemed to swallow my little girl whole. I watched as Megan stepped onto the school stage for her first Christmas play and I stood to applaud the loveliest little angel near the manger. I watched as Megan stepped into her prom gown and later stepped into her first car after getting her drivers license. I cried watching every one of those steps. Sometimes I wanted to hold her so tightly that she could not physically take her next step; but that isn’t the way the next step works. Megan needed to take her next steps in order to help me take mine.

As I’ve gotten older some next steps have been difficult. Some physically and others emotionally. After a recent surgery and diagnosis of congestive heart failure taking even a few small steps were painful. With Megan’s help I was able to navigate what had suddenly changed from Home Sweet Home into a treacherous obstacle course. Megan helped me to take slow steady steps and when I could not step any longer she took some steps for me.

Sometimes the next step takes us closer to something we dread. Just recently I stepped out of a car and into a hospital emergency room, knowing that each step would bring me to the quiet room that played an antiseptic host to my dying mother. I knew as I crossed the threshold that I stepped into that room as a child and when I stepped out I would have to be all grown up. This step was a defining step into adulthood, more so than any other had been.

In one step I was expected to know all the answers. In one step my childhood ended and it was so profound I could not move. I looked at the face of my mother in peace and wondered what her last steps had been like. Had she stepped into the ambulance in pain? When her feet left the floor for the last time did she know in her heart that she had taken her last step? I then wondered what her first step had been like. Did her mother celebrate with open arms? So many steps in between the first and last. Each next step leading to great joy and great sorrow, Megan was with me the day my mother died. A beautiful young woman holding my arm making sure my next steps were in comfort and consolation.

The step into the funeral home was surreal. None of this was expected. The sad faces of friends and family stepping into the room strewn with flowers to kneel beside her casket for a final farewell. How ironic it is to me that we say goodbye to someone who has taken their last steps by bending our knees and removing our feet from the floor.

This morning I came downstairs and stopped to look at the assembly of shoes by the front door. Olivia’s roller skates and tiny sneakers filled with sand from playing hard as six year olds will do. Caitlin’s pumps just out of the box ready to be worn on her very first date. Megan’s flip flops so well worn that the imprint of her foot has faded the design, My husband’s shiny dress shoes and my school shoes all mingled together. A gathering of soles telling tales of past steps, waiting eagerly to take on the next steps. My gaze locked on the flip flops a little longer. The recollection of Megan’s help the past week still so fresh it can barely be called a memory. Someday, I thought, she will take those steps that will change her from child into adult. Then, I looked at my school shoes and settled next to my mother’s cane and realize she already has.