The Art of Walking

I have always described myself as someone who loves to be outside. I grew up riding horses, and I have always loved animals. I remember spending most of my childhood at the farm, riding my horses and playing in the woods and pond. In addition to horseback riding throughout high school, I also ran cross country and track. Whenever I was not at school, I was outside. I have seen many early morning sunrises – I remember driving to summer practices in the dark and leaving with wet shoes and sticky legs from running in the early morning dew. Because I have spent so much time outside, I have come to realize that it is difficult to truly appreciate nature when you are in an active state. While I remember the sun breaking through the darkness during these early mornings, I did not take the time to watch it rise because I was too busy looking at the ground in front of me, careful not to trip over a root or rock while running with my teammates.

Sadly, it has taken me a long time to realize the benefits of simply being outside. I continue to run, but when I do, I find that I am either completely zoned out or singing along to my music in my head. I have the mile markers on the trinity memorized, only looking up when I know that I am getting close to mile one, then two, then three, and so on. Through steady movement and constant distractions, I have lost an appreciation for simply being outside. I guess it is more accurate to say that I am someone who likes doing things outside, not someone who loves to be outside. 

The Trinity River

Today, I decided to go for a walk on the trinity, as opposed to my usual run. I didn’t speed walk as quickly as I could to reach my turn-around spot. I didn’t stare at the ground as my shoes stepped one in front of the other. Instead, I slowed down and looked at the world around me. I sat on a bench and spent time looking at the river. When I reached the straight gravel path, although I knew that reaching the end of it would mean I had walked exactly one mile, I turned my head in a direction I normally do not – to the left instead of focusing straight ahead. I saw a path that cuts across the river and decided to go down it and explore. The path was made up of stepping-stone rocks. While the river was completely still on one side, the water trickled through the rocks flowing downward on the other.

The infamous gravel path leading to the first mile marker

Stepping-stone path 

Trickling water

While I have always considered running to be a meditative activity because it leaves me with a clear mind, I found that walking slowly in silence is even more beneficial, though more challenging. Although I do not think I have fully mastered Thoreau’s “art of Walking,” this experience has taught me to be more appreciative of the journey, rather than rushing to the destination. I like to believe that everyone is right where they need to be. If this is true, then everything we see outside, from a leaf on the ground to a squirrel climbing a tree, is also right where it needs to be. Similar to how Whitman describes finding the extraordinary in the mundane, I also believe that life is a miracle, and I hope to appreciate more of its natural beauty by taking the time to slow down and admire what’s around me.