I looked down and saw the old blister on the back of my heel. A souvenir from Australia when I hiked 6 miles in soaking wet leather vans. No longer red, no longer sore, no longer scabbed.
I remembered how utterly painful that blister was the day it appeared, no joke. It was so bad. By the end of the hike, I could barely walk on that foot. My shoe kept rubbing it raw.
For about a week I couldn’t even wear real shoes, only sandals and flip flops, in 40 degree weather. I had to cater to that blister, as though it was a real injury, simply because it was so, so painful if I accidentally rubbed it the wrong way.
And I thought to myself. Wow. It’s been a month since that day. And here is the callused scar. Still visible and still not totally healed, not gone yet.
Waiting for him to arrive, I sit looking at this scar. It hurt so badly in the moment. It hurt so badly for days. But without even thinking about it, as time has gone on, the pain has faded.
The scar remains to prove that indeed pain had been there, but those crippling (I swear it hurt that bad) feelings are distant.
And so, I knew that this too shall pass. Because as it was so painful at the time, time does heal all wounds.