"It is impossible to walk rapidly and be unhappy."

my title's a quote from Howard Murray. New friends often comment on the speed of my walk, and Seamus says he has to gallop just to keep up with me. The past two days, I facilitated at a retreat for a high school class I'm familiar with, and I slowed my step. I walked with my group of kids--to the cabins, to the bathrooms, in the dark, in freezing weather. I kept stride with their carefree leaps or despondent shuffling but wherever they needed me to go with them, I went, and I went on whatever pace they set.

There was a sharing circle at the end of the first evening, and we gathered around in sleeping bags and pajamas, and the lights were off and 4 candles burned in the middle of the lodge. Everyone was invited to take turns and speak of anything on their mind, and on my first turn, I told them: "I know a few of you a little bit and most of you not at all. But that's okay because as we learned earlier, it takes trust to build emotional intimacy. And many of you have gone through a lot of pain and horrible things, and I'm no exception. I used to be a completely different person from the one sitting here with you today. So I just want to say that I extend a sincere, open invitation for anyone to come talk to me anytime, and I promise to listen, at the very least, and we can both work on trusting together." I meant every word of it but I was unsure if it came across too cheesy or if people had already fallen asleep or were too busy making out but then it was this kid's turn, and he acts tough and often teases me and hadn't participated much in the retreat so far, and with a shaky voice he began, "I just want to start out by saying thank you... to Valorie, for helping me with some of my problems. I know we haven't known each other that long but I've told her... some things and she's listened and helped me a lot." He continued to share a very personal, touching story, and around the circle were many more tellings of suffering and broken trust and being made to feel so, so low that everything seems so big and unreachable. I know this story by heart. I could have finished their sentences. On my second turn, I could have tried telling them what to do or how to ache less, to see the forest from the trees. But many times, what we really need more than answers are people who truly care about our problems, who are dependable, so that even when you're at that low with everything pressing down upon you, there is someone out there that makes you feel you could still stand up. My knowledge is limited, but my empathy embraced the entire room.