The cars whizz by under our feet as we cross, like a slow caravan, the bridge over the highway. The sides of the bridge are adorned with metal circles engraved with quotes about walking or biking. For instance, “I love long walks, especially when taken by ones who annoy me (unknown)” and “Don’t walk in front of me — I may not follow; don’t walk behind — I may not lead; walk beside me and just be my friend (Albert Camus).”

We pause.

My niece, a year old, dances out of her stroller and gazes down at the cars. My grandma, leaning to one side in her wheelchair, gazes at the ground, at the steel supports of the bridge, at the cars, or perhaps at images of the past.  I take my eyes off my two companions and focus on the vehicles and I wonder: what are their inhabitants thinking? Is there an arguing couple? A happy, dancing-to-the-music family? When they pass under this bridge, are they looking at the structure? Or do they see us and wonder what we too are thinking?  Do they see us at all?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been creating stories about people in my head. As I’ve grown up, these stories have also grown up. Some I’ve written about and some I plan to in the future. And some I’ve forgotten. Through my experiences of working with elderly and disabled clients, talking to those on the helpline, and my current internship at a nursing home, I’ve discovered simultaneously that real life can inform and better my stories more than simply my imagination and that human beings are more inspiring and grittier than any story can properly convey. Which is why I am a writer and why I am pursuing my Masters in Social Work.

With this discovery, I also have become aware of something called self-care. Self-care seems to be a “trendy” conversation piece right now, but unlike many trendy topics, it is of the upmost importance. Because I as an aspiring social worker, as well as anyone in any kind of helping position or anyone who hears/witnesses humans struggling constantly, need to take care of myself. I take care of myself in a series of little moments, like the one on the bridge with my niece and my grandma and the one I’m taking right now to write this post. Every once in a while, these moments will lead to stories that will be told in one way or another. But I’m finding, increasingly, that sometimes the best way to take care of myself, the best little moment to have or to share

is a pause.