When I walk, I:
Consider the flow of the air against the trees and the cool wind blowing down the streets swirling the leaves. I watch the sun setting forth to a night of stars and lately clouds that battle those same skies for purchase. I hear the lonely hoot of the coming night with far away car horns and voices of families inside homes with the food cooking and I remember.
Remember what it was like before and what I gained and lost with divorce. How I lost the kids but found them again and how I lost a person who I thought I knew for the better of 20 years. I still remember the moments and the years where I persisted living in misery and the jobs came and went and there was no joy.
Think and listen and feel and wonder and I am a Quora of answers and questions self-posed. Walking frees me to do these things like nothing else. I can think of a moment of realization and loss and mystery. The listening surprises me and feelings often about work persist. I wonder why a person I work with has no assertiveness and is willing to take crap from another person when I would probably leave.
Those are some of the things when I walk but there are more. There is a life spent moving one foot in front of other in cities like Sydney, Kyoto, Singapore, Santa Barbara, Tokyo, Portland, Seattle, Eugene. Walking vacations that came and went where I walked and felt those cities. I never knew all of them. Another block away was something else but I remember a sleepy block in Tokyo and a bustling street in Sydney. A quiet park in Singapore and bustling bike filled sidewalk in Kyoto. Many steps taken in moments of walking steps in the tens of thousands. Then I was back. I always came back.
Walking is not about going and returning to me. Its not a solemn duty with a fitbit counting the steps. Its my own statement of meaning and it never can be yours.
Because when I walk I just am. I don’t want or need or pretend.