The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Sometimes that single step is enormously difficult to make. But it isn’t as if the second and the third and the fourth steps become tremendously easy as a result of taking that first step. Sometimes the intermediate steps are every bit as difficult. And sometimes the steps at the end of the journey are no

cakewalk as well.

I was reminded of that twice in the physical world this year. The first was when Jane’s sister and I took on the Walk for Hunger back in May. By the time we finished the 20 mile trek we were both pretty well done in. The last mile seemed to take forever. The sea breeze in our faces did not help matters.

The Marathon Walk in September should have been easier. I had trained all summer for it and it was only 6.2 miles longer than the walk in May. But my hips were agony at the end of that walk–and truth be told, they still give me a twinge some days.

But those walks were mentally easy by comparison to what I seem now to have in hand. The walks had a definitive beginning and ending with plenty of sign posts along the way to mark the trail. All I had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. Even meals and fluids were provided at regular intervals. No matter how tired I was I knew there was Gatorade, bananas and orange segments just a couple miles away at any point. And if my body broke down, there was a bus to cart me to the finish line and another to get me to my car.

But there is barely a defined starting line for taking down any disease–let alone this one. There is no set of directions for creating a foundation or growing a website. There are books and websites that pretend to be that set of directions; there are conversations one can have with those who have attempted something similar before; but the reality is that every foundation is different, every website is different, every disease is different–and every patient is different. At this far end of forever most maps are marked with phrases like “Here there be dragons” or “Terra Incognito.” All anyone can do is press on or turn back.

I am uniquely unqualified for the work I have taken on. My advanced course work is in English, not biology or medicine, not public administration or web design, not fundraising or marketing.

But I know how to study and to learn. I know how to watch and to listen. I know how to think and how to make connections between things that most people do not–at first glance–see. And I have not entirely forgotten how to put fire in the hearts of men and women.

Perhaps those skills will be enough to offset the knowledge I do not yet have.

There is nothing to return to if I turn back. And there is hope if I keep moving forward that good will come of it.

The skills in hand will have to be enough.