Shamelessly convinced to be right, I walked away. The dust, stirred by my haste, blurred those left behind.
The end of the journey, the end of the long walk, revealed the truth. I was wrong . . . maybe. But had I not risked the loss of something, by walking away from it, I never would have thought so. I never would have believed my anger at such a simple thing was groundless. Instead, the intense ire would be burning through every pore until my mind found a million past instances to prove my point.
In the end, my "point" had no value. It didn't matter one iota. It simply was no longer important to waste precious moments proving it.
The ire burned away in the cold dry wind that stung my cheeks and burned my eyes. The dust settled leaving the clarity I sought.
In the end, the value found, was in the walk itself.
