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"plaintext": "The shoe’s sole hits the ground. A sound reverberates and the motion continues. The first step and the last step are indiscernible from the continuous flow of life. To step, to fall. To stand up, to walk. Concrete, marble, plaster. Rocks, dirt, moss. We walk through these surfaces without the thought that this step might be the last. We continue moving, unfazed by the ephemeral nature of our presence somewhere. To laugh, to be heard, we walk to our friends. To love, to be wanted, we walk towards those who are closest to us. To walk is to live. To walk is to love."
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"plaintext": "Some steps are easier, some harder. Some steps are done energetically, some begrudgingly. Some steps are muffled by the rubber soles we wear. Other steps are skin-to-surface. But every step we take requires us to exert our muscles, to lift our body, and to set out foot back down again."
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"plaintext": "Many of our first steps do not coincide with the moments that we’ll remember them for. When I was changing schools, my first step at Prepa Tec was at a tour. Then my thousandth step was probably when I was taking the entrance exams. And finally, the step I’ll remember, the step I took in my first day of classes, was probably my five thousand, three hundred and fourth step. Every day started with the step. The step where my foot stood mid-air until it changed surfaces from the car’s mats to the school’s asphalt. On happy days, steps were far and wide in between, my body propelled through the air by my skipping. On sadder days, my emotions echoed through the vibrations my heavy steps sent through the floor. "
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"plaintext": "People and their philosophies change. Hell, I’ve changed. But my step remains the constant factor. Ever since I took my first step, probably around 2009, the step has been what has carried me through. I look at my step as a way to analyze how much I’ve grown. I look at my step as the enabler of said growth."
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"plaintext": "High School is ending soon. Some day, probably in less than 30 days, I’ll take my last step inside the campus I’ve called home for more than three years. And the worst part is, that last step might not be the last. I might return as an alumni. I might return when it is my time to bring my children to this same school. But for some reason, the step that is imminent feels final, as if the walls of an elevator were closing in on me. I feel like I might forget the transformation I’ve undergone inside of this place."
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"plaintext": "And soon, steps that I never thought possible will become so. I’ll take my first step on the Harvard campus as a Freshman. I’ll walk into The Harvard Crimson and write a story. Steps so many would long to be selected for, yet feel so daunting. Steps I sometimes dream of postponing. Steps that I know I have to face."
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"plaintext": "I’ve talked about how steps enable us to create memories. How everything we remember starts with that inertia, that movement that carries our bodies forward. The irony is, forgetting also comes from steps. When we walk into a new space for the first time, all of our memories are intact. But walk somewhere—no longer new— for the thousandth time, and the memory of what life used to look like will seem distant and cloudy. That is part of my two-pronged fear. On one side, I fear that moving might make me not take the steps that I believed I should. The step to the first day of University in Mexico. The step to the first party as a college student in Mexico City. The other side of my fear is the fear of forgetting the steps I’ve taken. It’s losing the understanding of how much I’ve grown. It’s the fear of regressing into old patterns. It’s the fear of not talking with my friends anymore. It’s the fear of coming back and seeing everyone having moved on."
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"plaintext": "The seal between the shoe’s sole and the floor disappears. The leg’s muscles elevate the foot, and it stands mid-air for several milliseconds. Finally, the foot descends and hits the ground once again. The motion of walking will be the same. But the memories won’t. Is this what I’ve worked for so long? Or is it a condemnation? I fear I might be overly dramatic, and obviously, I am very excited and grateful about this new opportunity. But still, the fear will ring through my body with every step that I take until I realize that this is real, and that this is what I’ve worked for."
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"plaintext": "To take the next step."
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"publishedAt": "2026-04-16T15:57:43.144Z",
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"tags": [],
"title": "The Step"
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