OFF
In Spanish, the word herido comes from the same root as herida (wound) and herir (to strike). It implies a blow that was meant to stop you. And yet, caminando is a gerund—an ongoing action. It is not “I walked” (past) or “I will walk” (future). It is I am walking right now, through the pain, in real time.
So if you are reading this with an old ache, a fresh betrayal, a tired body, or a spirit running on fumes—good. You are in the right place.
Think of the boxer who gets cut above the eye in the third round. The blood obscures his vision. The referee offers a towel. But he spits out his mouthguard, blinks the red away, and taps his gloves together. He is not fighting to win the trophy anymore. He is fighting because standing upright, in front of the roaring crowd, is the only proof that he is still alive. To walk while wounded is a quiet act of insurrection.
Adjust your shoulder. Breathe through the stitch in your side. Look up at the horizon, even if it’s blurry.
In Spanish, the word herido comes from the same root as herida (wound) and herir (to strike). It implies a blow that was meant to stop you. And yet, caminando is a gerund—an ongoing action. It is not “I walked” (past) or “I will walk” (future). It is I am walking right now, through the pain, in real time.
So if you are reading this with an old ache, a fresh betrayal, a tired body, or a spirit running on fumes—good. You are in the right place.
Think of the boxer who gets cut above the eye in the third round. The blood obscures his vision. The referee offers a towel. But he spits out his mouthguard, blinks the red away, and taps his gloves together. He is not fighting to win the trophy anymore. He is fighting because standing upright, in front of the roaring crowd, is the only proof that he is still alive. To walk while wounded is a quiet act of insurrection.
Adjust your shoulder. Breathe through the stitch in your side. Look up at the horizon, even if it’s blurry.
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