Far Enough

 We measure everything now.

Everything.

Before we've even finished the day,

we've already started keeping score.

How many steps?

How many miles?

How many calories?

How many hours did you sleep?

What's your heart rate?

Your blood pressure?

Your blood sugar?

How much do you weigh?

How much do you make?

How much do you have?

And somehow...

we started believing

that if something has a number attached to it,

it must be important.

So we count.

And then we compare.

I walked twelve thousand steps.

You walked eighteen.

I rode twenty miles.

You rode thirty.

I made this much money.

You made more.

My house is this big.

Yours is bigger.

My watch says I'm healthy.

My bank account says I'm successful.

My numbers say...

I'm winning.

But winning what?

Because here's what I started wondering

while I was out walking today.

How do you measure peace?

Seriously.

What's the number?

How many units of peace

does a person need

before they can finally say...

I'm okay?

How do you measure freedom?

In miles?

In dollars?

In acres?

And love...

How much does love weigh?

Can you put it on a scale?

Can you count the feeling

of somebody reaching for your hand

when you're having the worst day of your life?

Can a watch measure

what it feels like

to know you're safe?

Truly safe.

Not locks on the doors.

Not money in the bank.

I mean that feeling

deep inside you...

that for this moment,

everything is okay.

There's no measurement for that.

There's no app for belonging.

No watch can measure forgiveness.

No bank statement can calculate contentment.

No machine can tell you

whether your life has meaning.

And maybe...

that's the strange part.

We've become obsessed

with measuring the things

that are easiest to count...

while the things that matter most

can't be counted at all.

A person can have perfect numbers.

Perfect blood pressure.

Perfect weight.

A million dollars.

A beautiful house.

A thousand friends online.

Twenty thousand steps before dinner.

And still...

go to bed miserable.

While somebody else

might have almost nothing impressive

to put on the scoreboard...

but they have peace.

They have freedom.

They have love.

They feel safe.

They wake up grateful.

And they go to bed content.

So tell me...

which one is richer?

Maybe we've got it backwards.

Maybe life isn't something

we're supposed to keep score of.

Maybe the purpose of walking

isn't always to reach ten thousand steps.

Maybe sometimes...

the purpose of walking

is simply...

to walk.

To feel the ground beneath your feet.

To notice the wind.

To hear the birds.

To look around

and realize you're alive.

So maybe tomorrow...

I'll leave the watch behind.

No steps.

No distance.

No pace.

No score.

I'll just walk.

And when the morning feels complete,

I'll turn around...

and head home.

And if somebody asks me,

"How far did you walk?"

I'll smile.

And say...

"Far enough."