Grief, Growth, and the Journey of Small Steps

Sometimes, life throws us challenges that feel insurmountable.

When our beloved Rhodesian Ridgeback Madiba suddenly passed in October, the grief was paralyzing. It felt like time had stopped, as if nothing would ever move forward again. We made a promise: we wouldn’t let the void consume us. Instead, we’d honor it. We’d fill it with love, purpose, and action.

Yesterday, we rode through mountain passes on a fun agile Yamaha scooter and a brand-new Vespa. And as the wind rushed by, it struck me: this wasn’t just about scooters. It was about how small, deliberate steps can transform even the heaviest moments into something extraordinary.

When we lost Madiba, we felt like we’d never recover. The void he left was overwhelming, and the pain seemed endless. Around that time, I bought a small motor-scooter for my wife, Natalia. It was a simple act, almost inconsequential, but looking back, it was the first step forward.

At first, everything felt impossible. Natalia had never driven before—just navigating a scooter seemed like a mountain we’d never climb. But progress is built on the smallest of steps. This weekend, we completed a three-day foundational course. It started with slalom drills and braking practice and ended with countryside roads and mountain passes. What once seemed unthinkable is now a scooter and a sleek, modern Vespa parked in the garage. The bigger Vespa, of course, is already claimed by my wife—because that’s how progress works: you grow, you dream bigger, and you take more.

This isn’t a story about scooters. It never was. It’s about moving forward when standing still feels safer. It’s about honoring the void by filling it with something meaningful. Grief has a way of convincing you that you’re stuck forever, but that’s a lie. You take one step, then another, and another. One day, you look back and realize the mountain you thought you’d never climb is far behind you.

Small steps aren’t small at all. They’re the cracks in the darkness, the first breaths of air when you’ve been drowning. They’re everything. Progress isn’t linear, but it’s relentless. And it’s always waiting for you—one step at a time.

Madiba’s gone, but somehow, he still moves us. Every day, in his absence, he inspires us to walk, to ride, to move forward. The void he left isn’t empty. It’s filled with love, courage, and the quiet insistence that we keep going.

So, what’s your step today? Take it. And know that someday, you’ll look back and see it wasn’t just a step. It was the start of everything.

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