The other day my dad called me from work to ask how I’d been doing, and I told him that I hadn’t gotten up off the couch all day. And there was this pause on the other end of the phone, and then he said, carefully:

“so get up off the couch. Bundle up, go outside, go for a walk.”

Context: it was like two o’clock in the afternoon. I had slept straight through the previous night, almost woke up close to morning and lay in bed and tossed and turned and drifted for a bit and felt frustrated with myself for not being able to wake up until I finally managed to pull myself up and out of bed

— got dressed, walked downstairs, brushed my teeth, checked my phone, stood in the kitchen and just —-

didn’t want to face the world.

curled up on the living room couch, and went right back to sleep.

That’s where I was when my dad called me.

He stayed on the phone with me as I swung my feet over the side of the couch, stood up, went looking for my socks and shoes, my hat and coat,

a leash for the dog who kept curling up next to the couch and worrying

and my dad was just there and listening to me talking myself through each tiny little intermediate step towards getting outside. At one point, I needed both hands to tie my shoes or something and I needed to hang up. So I promised that I would let him know when I was out the door. It took me longer than I wanted it to, but I did it. I send him this picture:

And he just told me I’d done a good job.

We – Lara and I – walked for maybe a mile and a half or two. And with each step, it got a little easier.

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How have you been doing?