Welcome to today’s EJC Writing Contributor, Kresha Waldrop.
Kresha is a certified Style Coach with a focus on confidence building and closet curating. She co-owned Jane Made and Found, a charming boutique, for 13 years and enjoys designing beautiful spaces as well as closet/style concepts. Kresha is passionate about helping women see the beauty in themselves and the world around them.
We are honored to share her thoughts with you today.
The Trudge
I let out a small huff as I slowed down behind a school bus that was about to lurch to a full stop. But I let my gaze wander to the doors that were now stuttering open. The riders began to file out. The first off were very tiny people, only five or six years old. As they poured out it was evident that they were hardly able to contain themselves. They ran, they skipped, they practically bounced excitedly to their designated grownup. I couldn’t help but smile as my eyes followed their little feet and I witnessed their inaudible excitedness from my car window. Next off were slightly taller, slightly less enthusiastic children. They smiled or waved at a friend as they made their way to their familiar adult and seemed happy to be in the presence of someone who was waiting just for them.
Last off the bus were the backseat dwellers. They were the oldest, most experienced in life so far in this little elementary school demographic. My heart sank at how differently those kids carried themselves. They trudged. The contrast in the way they exited the bus, heads down and shoulders slumped, made me tear up. It was clear that life had made its mark on the older kids in some unkind way: innocence stolen, belief of magic fading, the grind of life resting on each pair of gangly shoulders like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Witnessing those kids file off the bus was like watching a timeline of childhood lost. Growing up changes our posture and we begin to trudge. We are older now, we are wiser. We know we are going to have to push against the grind in order to survive. So, we slump our shoulders, we put our heads down, and we lean in. We wait for the beating that the day will bring to our soul and we shrink our expectations because our hope can’t take another hit.
To trudge means to walk slowly with heavy steps because of exhaustion or harsh conditions. The longer I live, the more tempted I am to trudge into and out of my days. It’s a protective posture. Keep my head down, keep moving, no surprises, no new pain.
The thing about trudging is that it’s a posture that blocks. And while it’s important to learn to protect myself, it’s also important to embrace my days like a kindergartener who just got her first cubby with her name written in Sharpie on a piece of masking tape. A life well lived will hold a daily mix of moments to skip about, moments to wave hello or goodbye to people or places, moments to trudge through the disappointing pain, and moments to run with reckless abandon toward things that bring me joy.
We are all trudging through something … right… now. Life beat the hell out of me yesterday and it’s not going to happen again today. No sir, not on my watch. I’ve got my trudging shoes on… just over here trudging away… protected.
But I tried a thing today. I tried to trudge and smile. Or do a little skip in between trudgy steps. I tried trudging while singing and it works, but only to the 8 Mile soundtrack.
I think God gave us the ability to trudge because it’s the gritty posture that gets us through the ugly parts. But it’s not the posture that will grow my life into what I dream about. It’s not a posture that welcomes conversations, new ideas, and a renewed mind.
So, when you must get out your trudging shoes, bedazzle those babies and get through the ugly stuff. And then look up, soften your shoulders, and run into the arms of the beautiful life God gave you.
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