Shuffle…shuffle…I’ve been tired, cold, hungry and alone. Shuffle… shuffle the difference now is that’s the beginning rather than the end. As a teen, I ran away from home, started using LSD, got sexually and physically assaulted. Some days I wanted it all to stop; most days I was able to convince myself to shuffle along. Head down, so no one would see me. Shoulders hunched, wanting to disappear into the night. When my son was born, I started picking up my feet a little higher, and didn’t trip on so may rocks. When I finished high school, I straightened my spine. When I graduated law school, I held up my head. The trail before me still had mountains, boulders and rivers to cross. I knew beyond the trees were the scorching depths of the canyons. Others were out there, continuing their shuffle tired, cold, hungry, but I wouldn’t let them do it alone. Others can learn from the miles I had spent on my fee; the ones begging on street and the ones celebrating the single track. The results of my miles are my story. It’s my greatest gift to myself and others. Shuffle…shuffle… tired, cold, hungry, and alone? That’s just mile seventy-five of a one hundred. It’s the beginning of the last marathon. It’s when I choose to dig deep. It’s where the real story starts. It’s when I write a blogpost. It’s when I write a novel. It’s when I rewrote my end, Never Let Me Go, a memoir.