I finally have it figured out.

My morning walk is my Prozac.

My walk is routine now. If I miss my walk, I MISS it.

And that’s not all. I’ve figured out through trial and error that when I don’t walk, I have a shorter fuse. I’m sadder. I question everything, from how I choose to spend my time to whether life is worth living.

And that’s just emotional pain. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve developed a lower backache. I figured out the hard way yesterday that it hurts much more on the days I don’t walk. I’ve diagnosed myself with plantar fasciitis, and my feet hurt more on days I don’t walk.

Walking is therapeutic for me. Rather than get sucked into the black hole of my house, where piles of laundry and clutter haunt me, or into the twin black hole of my mother’s terminal illness, I spend time in nature. I breathe fresh clean air and feel the recently-risen sun on my face, the promise of a new day…of God’s love.

Plus, the walk is just a pleasant experience. I’m especially enjoying it now that it’s fall: the quality of light as it plays through what leaves are left on the trees, this morning’s sting of a frosty breeze on my cheek.

When I get home, my head is clear and I’m ready to tackle my issues instead of running from them.

How about you? Finish this statement: “Life is better when I…”

“Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, who walk in the light of your presence, LORD.” –Psalm 89:15