In college, I felt self-conscious about not having a car. I'd walk a mile to-and-from campus each day and resent the fact that everyone else seemingly had one. On these walks, I'd regularly cross paths with another resident of my apartment building—a guy a few years my senior who was also always on foot.
One day, seeking validation for our perceived hardship, I approached him: "I see you walking all the time too, really sucks to not have a car, right?"
Looking at me with a mix of understanding and mild disdain, he explained that walking was his joy. During his military service, an explosion in combat had damaged his back, leaving him unable to walk for two years. He had to relearn to walk, making every step now a gift rather than a burden.
I never complained about walking again.
