A lot of people told me to move on. That was probably technically correct, but seemed like the worst thing I could imagine - not feeling terrible about myself.

A lot of people told me to move on. That was probably technically correct, but seemed like the worst thing I could imagine - not feeling terrible about myself. My uncle’s brother died long ago, so he told me something of the opposite - that I would think about this every day of my life. But it had to become a piece of me, and not the whole me. And that I’ll never be able to reconcile the rest of my life, but I could, right now, set a timer and do something for the next five minutes. Like physically move 10 yards to sit on the lawn. And then a new place for the next five minutes. Write something down. Start with single words when sentences are too ambitious. Read one page from a book and then rest. The gains from each tiny step in one direction add up. The focus is intense, like an addict. At the end of a year, I wasn’t just running marathons, I was winning marathons. It could have gone better, but it definitely could have gone a lot worse. Good luck soldier.