After a long day of clients and paperwork, Becky closed the office late with her guide dog, Georgie. She liked to tidy up when the building was quiet, refill the candy bowl, and spritz some air freshener. Once, thinking the waiting room was empty, she almost mistook a late client by accident, and they both laughed. Moments like that reminded her to find humor where she could. That night, the place was finally still. She pulled down the calendar and, with the small circle of sight she has left, read the words at the bottom: Live like someone left the gate open.
The message hit home. Years earlier, after being diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa at eighteen, she had watched doors close. Night blindness and lost peripheral vision made sports, Halloween, and driving disappear from her life. But other gates had opened. Her vocational rehab counselor once quoted Helen Keller: When one door closes, another opens, but we stare so long at the closed door we miss the one that opened. Becky decided to run through open gates whenever she found them.
In college, she told her friend Steve about her diagnosis. He listened with kindness, and over time, they fell in love. At their wedding reception, he tapped her elbow when she needed to reach out her arm, a small signal that became a way of life. Together they raised a family, earned graduate degrees, built a business, and found joy in tandem cycling and running. Teamwork turned obstacles into plans. Running became a path to big dreams. She trained for marathons with friends Brenda and Suzette guiding her by voice and a short tether. Boston sounded impossible at first, but the dream took root. It took four marathons to hit the qualifying time, and each taught her something new. An injury before one race forced patience and better technique. Another race showed her the power of support when her friends slowed to her pace. A favorite quote kept showing up: The miracle is that I dared to start.
On a cold, rainy April morning in Boston, Becky and Brenda edged toward the start among thousands of runners. The crowds were loud and kind. Volunteers and strangers cheered. Near halfway, Suzette took over guiding, calling out turns and offering sips and energy candy. Around mile twenty, when the wall hit and doubt crawled in, Suzette’s steady encouragement and the roar near Heartbreak Hill pulled Becky through. Turning onto Boylston Street, soaked and aching, she felt only joy. They had done it. The work mattered. The people mattered most.
Her motto came later with Cricket, her second guide dog. On a lunch walk, she answered a call from a struggling colleague. Cricket sensed Becky’s distraction and slowed. Becky whispered to refocus her dog: hop up, move forward. Her friend misheard and said, I thought you said look up, move forward. It was precisely the message she needed, and it stuck. Becky realized that moving forward is powerful, but first, you have to look up. You pause, find your bearings, ask for help, notice what is still good, and then step on purposefully.
Life has handed Becky challenges bigger than a marathon. Losing vision. Long training days. Building a practice. Showing up when it is raining and cold. Through them all, she has learned that dreaming big is not about speed but about staying the course with grit, friends, and gratitude. Georgie and Cricket guided her feet, but people guided her heart. Crowds on sidewalks, family on the sidelines, and friends on the tether made the hard miles possible. She locked up the office and climbed into the Uber, Georgie at her side, ready for tomorrow. The calendar’s words stayed with her, bright as a finish-line banner. Her simple truth is this: look up to refocus, then move forward with help and hope, because the gate is open and life is waiting.
