There was an old woman walking in front of me.

I wanted to pass her.

The sidewalk was narrow.

I did not pass her.

I thought it might be rude to pass her. If I passed her at my own walking speed, she might see me as showing off my youth. It would make her acutely aware of her own age. How unfair that I should flaunt a fleetness of foot that had been lost to her for decades. How inconsiderate.

Instead, I slowed down my pace to match her lumbering gait, roughly ten feet behind her. I cut the length of my stride in half, spaced my steps out by a second longer, placed one foot in front of the other more deliberately. This felt very unnatural to me. To assuage my impatience I pulled out my phone and fidgeted with the apps and tried to be very interested in what was happening on the screen.

I don’t think she noticed me, as I was still behind her. But perhaps she did.

Then I began to worry that it might be rude not to pass her. If she noticed me walking behind her, she might think What on earth is she doing? That is not how young people walk. Would she think I was mocking her? Condescending to her pace? And even if she were charitable enough to assume I was trying to be considerate, would she then feel guilty about blocking me? These were not emotions that I wanted her to feel.

I resolved that I would have to pass her.

I reached into my purse, found my AirPods, and wedged them into my ears for good measure. If I appeared to be lost in my own little world, that might give me some social cover. Then I lengthened my stride and quickened my pace, at first subtly, but then noticeably and deliberately. As I approached her, I veered leftward, which took me off the pavement and onto the grass. It was damp from the morning dew.

Then, as I overtook her, I pretended my best not to have noticed her at all.