Keep your running shoes on

The song “Circle of Life” from The Lion King gives most of us goosebumps when we listen to it. The music is powerful and familiar, but this time, a few words stayed with me.

“Some of us fall by the wayside

And some of us soar to the stars

And some of us sail through our troubles

And some of us have to live with the scars…”

I have often thought about those who sail through troubles and those who live with scars.  I have plenty of scars and never owned a sailboat, but I still look up to the stars, hoping for direction just the same.

My granddaughter will soon be twenty-one, the age when life begins to stretch out before you, full of promise and possibility.  It is a pivotal time, when big decisions can shape us or, at times, try to break us.  After education ends, the questions begin to crowd in: Will I love my work?  Will I succeed? Will marriage and children be part of my future? Where will I live? Will I be happy?

As young adults, we step into the running phase of life, so it’s best to buy good athletic shoes early.

Recently, I sat down with my granddaughter and had one of the hardest conversations of my life. It wasn’t difficult because of anything she had done, but rather because of what I needed to share. I revealed the truth about my journey. I showed her my scars and admitted that many of them were self-inflicted. I spoke about the choices I made: some were made in error, others in haste, and a few without sufficient wisdom at the time.

I omitted unnecessary details that served no purpose, but I did not hide the lessons I learned; those mattered.

It was emotional and, at times, tearful. But she listened—really listened—to every word, not with judgment, but with a quiet kind of understanding that surprised me.

I worried she might think less of me, that it might somehow chip away the image she held.  But the truth is, the “me” I once tried so hard to protect no longer matters as much.  While she steps into life’s circle with hope and energy, I can see the exit sign a little more clearly than I once could.

That changes how you think.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to pass along what I’ve learned—to my granddaughter, my children, my friends, and anyone willing to listen. Not because I have all the answers, but because I know the cost of learning everything the hard way.  It may not always be perfect advice, but it is always given with the hope that someone else might avoid a few unnecessary scars.

As the exit sign looms, I feel a sense of urgency—to give more while I can: more time, more words, more love, more compassion.

At one point, she asked, “Grandma, how did you get through such pain?’

I replied, “It took years—and a great deal of counseling—for me to find the stars again.  Faith was the anchor, and learning to use my scars to help others was the turning point.  Scars are reminders of what we’ve endured. I chose to turn mine into symbols of survival.”

As the exit sign looms, I feel a sense of urgency—to give more while I can: more time, more words, more love, more compassion. Perhaps if we all lived with that awareness, we would travel more carefully, notice the warning signs, and keep our eyes fixed on hope.

The problem is that many people hide their scars, but honesty is essential for genuine connection and guiding the next generation with trust and understanding.

Resentment can stem from disappointment. Lies often lead to more deceit, and without forgiveness, old wounds can reopen.  The only way I’ve found to move forward is to entrust that burden to God. When you do, you can find your way back into the circle of life and return to truly living.

We forget that we are all traveling together, each of us trying to find our way, doing the best we can with what we know at the time.

As I looked at my granddaughter, I saw a younger version of myself—full of hope, dreams, and naiveness. She didn’t yet carry the weight of experience. But like all of us, she will stumble. She will break, mend, and grow stronger.

And when she stands again, I believe she will hear a whisper: “Stay in the circle. There is a plan. Just keep walking.”

Our journey is what shapes who we become—but only if we allow our wounds to heal into something meaningful.

So, keep your running shoes on.

_____

Lynn Walker Gendusa began her writing career as a columnist for the LaGrange News. Today, her essays are featured regularly throughout Georgia and Tennessee. Her work also appears in Guidepost, USA Today, The Atlanta Journal, MSN.com, among others. Lynn has authored two books; the latest, “Southern Comfort,” was published in 2022. She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more of her inspirational stories, click here.