Everything is Subjective

Eric, bless his soul, offered to escort me on today’s walk/jog, as he could see, thanks to a current low-level bout with depression, I was struggling to get started. 

Three minutes in…  

Me <internally>: This fucking sucks. I hate that I can’t run. I hate that all I can get my body to do is this pathetic, sluggish, barely-trot. 

Eric (bouncing along next to me, 100% genuine and full of enthusiasm): “Wait– isn’t this running?”



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