Walking Around the World

Day One The Day the Thought Refused to Leave

Walking Around the World

Day One The Day the Thought Refused to Leave

He did not wake up planning to walk around the world. That part matters. If he had, the idea might have scared him off before breakfast.

The thought arrived the way stubborn thoughts do. Quiet at first. Almost polite.

He was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee that had gone lukewarm while he stared out the window. Snow clung to the edges of the yard even though spring was trying to push in. His boots sat by the door, still damp from a short walk the night before.

Seventy three years old. Fifty three years married. Diabetic for longer than he liked to admit.

The doctor’s words from last week still hung around his head. Manageable. Stable. Watch your levels. Keep moving but don’t overdo it.

Keep moving.

That was when the thought showed up.

How far could I really go.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Just eventually.

He laughed out loud at first. A short bark of a laugh that sounded ridiculous even to him. Around the world. That was something other people said. Younger people. Stronger people. People with sponsors and matching jackets.

He rinsed his mug and checked his blood sugar. It was fine. Normal. Boring.

The thought stayed.

It followed him into the shower. It waited while he buttoned his shirt. It sat beside him when he tied his boots. By the time he stepped outside for his usual walk, it had settled in like it owned the place.

He did not walk far that morning. Two miles. Maybe three. He kept stopping to stare down the road, imagining it stretching farther than it ever had before.

When he came back home, his wife was standing at the sink. She turned and smiled when she saw him, the same smile she had given him for more than half a century. Love lived there. Familiarity. Patience.

You’re back early, she said.

I had an idea, he replied.

She froze just enough to notice.

That sentence had history.

He told her slowly. Carefully. Like you tell someone you love about a storm you see coming from far away. He talked about walking. About time. About not racing. About managing his health. About raising money so the walk would mean something more than stubbornness.

She listened. She always did.

When he finished, she crossed her arms and shook her head.

You are completely insane, she said.

He smiled.

But you’re still listening.

She sighed. A long one. The kind that carried fifty three years of knowing exactly who she married.

You are too old, she said. You are diabetic. You hate airports. And you have never done anything quietly in your life.

All true.

She walked over and rested her forehead against his chest.

If you die doing this, I will never forgive you.

He wrapped his arms around her.

Then I better not die.

They stood like that for a long time.

That afternoon he wrote letters. Real ones. To friends. To former coworkers. To organizations. He did not ask for money right away. He asked for belief. For advice. For gear. For introductions. For patience.

He made a simple page online. No polish. Just truth. A photo of him in his boots. A sentence that said what he planned to do and why.

Donations trickled in. Ten dollars. Twenty. A pair of socks from a man he barely remembered. A message from a stranger who said their father had diabetes too.

That night he checked his blood sugar again. Still fine.

His wife watched him pack the boots back by the door.

You really think you can do this, she asked.

I think I can start, he said.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

You are still crazy.

He reached for her hand.

I know.

That was Day One.