I’m learning to be like water

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Editor's note: 30 March 2020. I take as deep a breath as a lifelong smoker is capable of, and blow out the six and a quarter candles—representing my 62 years on earth—that my wife has precariously balanced on the cupcake that was all she could find, in lieu of a cake, in our strictly quarantined neighbourhood. Chasing a thought later that morning, I spill some flour on a plate, add water, dip both feet in the mix, and walk in a straight line from the kitchen to my study. I check the footsteps to make sure the strides are even. Then I measure each step, from the heel of the back foot to the toe of the front foot. They average out at 2.1 feet. “Did you know,” I tell my wife, “that when Usain Bolt ran that record-breaking 100-metre sprint at the Beijing Olympics his stride,  at the midpoint of the race when he was going flat out, was measured at 9 feet 8.4 inches?” “That bit of useless information made my day,” snarks my wife. “Do you know we are …