The Art of Running Away

I was running before I even learned to tie my own shoes. Not the fun kind—like, actual sprinting away from problems. My dad called it my 'superpower.' Mom called it 'avoidance behavior.' Either way, it kept me moving.

By sixteen, I'd perfected the art of the strategic exit. Chemistry test I forgot to study for? Stomachache, bathroom, outrun the consequences. Crush asked me to the spring dance while her friends watched? Fake text from mom, bolt.

My dog, Buster—a chaotic golden retriever mix who treated personal space like a challenge—was the only one who called me out. He'd chase me to the end of the driveway and back, tail wagging like this was the best game ever. Even when I locked myself in my room after my parents announced they were selling the house—the house where I'd learned to ride a bike, where Buster had dug his signature hole under the fence—Buster would scratch at the door like he knew I needed someone to refuse my disappearance act.

The real test came when Chloe, the human equivalent of a perfect Instagram feed, cornered me after practice.

"You run away a lot, don't you?" she said, not unkindly.

I opened my mouth, ready to deploy excuse #47 (suddenly remembered, urgent, somewhere else), but then I saw it: the carnival goldfish she'd won, swimming in its tiny bowl on her locker shelf. It kept bumping into the glass, over and over, like it forgot the boundary was there every single time.

"That fish has better survival instincts than me," I blurted out.

Chloe laughed, and something shifted. "His name is Kevin. He's my third attempt. The first two jumped out."

"Kevin the goldfish is a war criminal?"

"Kevin the goldfish is teaching me that some things—you have to stop running and just deal with the bowl you're in."

So I did. I stopped running. Buster stopped chasing. And Chloe and I sat on the locker room floor and talked about everything we'd been sprinting away from, while Kevin did laps.

Turns out, staying put isn't giving up. Sometimes it's the bravest thing you can do.