"Que Marchas?" My Spanish host mother used to ask me. I loved this verb, Marchar. It was probably my favorite Spanish verb that I learned in Spain, after Comer, to eat. They are both verbs that I learned by living them. Often they would go hand in hand: "Me marcho a la tienda por mas galletas y helado a comer." ( I am heading out to the store for more cookies and ice cream to eat ). Six years later, I think I finally burned off that last scoop of lemon gelato at the gym last week. More importantly, six years later, I feel like certain parts of me, the right parts of me, have let go of Marchar. It's hard to describe colloquially how marchar is different from walking or leaving. It's sort of like, walking with purpose, or walking as a function. In my heart, it sort of implies a certain mindset, to be constantly on the move, lest anything become stale or purposeless. The Spanish surely don't approve of this interpretation, but this is 'Merica, and...