How to Walk Away

by Katherine Center

knew what it was like to hate parts of my own body—what woman doesn’t? You “hate” that little bump of fat behind your knee, or that pointy little pinkie toe that doesn’t match the others, or that one crooked tooth. Anything about you that insists on being flawed despite all your attempts to get yourself perfectly uncriticizable is fair game for hostility.

‘When you don’t know what to do for yourself, do something for someone else.’”

But I’ve decided sorrow can make things funnier. Endure enough hardship, and you start really needing a good laugh.

“There are all kinds of happy endings.”

I have a theory that we are at our meanest when we feel threatened. People really seem to do their worst when they think you’re out to hurt them, or steal from them, or take something that’s rightfully theirs.

Needing to find reasons to live had forced me to build a life worth living. I would never say the accident was a good thing. I would never, ever claim that everything happens for a reason. Like all tragedies, it was senseless. But I knew one thing for sure: The greater our capacity for sorrow becomes, the greater our capacity for joy.