Walking as a Radical Act

Essay #1

Like many others, I’ve been inspired by the observations and writings of Henry David Thoreau on the natural world while living at Walden Pond. His thoughts often emerged from his practice of walking for several hours each day. Thoreau was also a fan of long walks in his travels as well. 

And so, I read with great interest Ben Shattuck’s book, Six Walks, about following in the footsteps of Thoreau through six of his journeys. Actor Nick Offerman offered a provocative blurb for this book, calling it “a gorgeous reminder that walking is the most radical form of locomotion nowadays.” 

That’s quite a statement. Is walking a radical act? The word radical most often speaks of something that is extreme or counter-cultural, going against the norm. And, I think this is what Offerman meant when he used the word. But, it also means getting to the root or foundational principle. And, walking upright on two legs is foundational to being human. 

One of the first milestones we celebrate as humans is when we begin to walk. Yet, today we live in a culture that very much revolves around getting somewhere as quickly as possible, whether by plane, train, or automobile. Walking is not the preferred mode. I am very much a product of this culture.

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When I was growing up, my family lived on a cul-de-sac, with a school across the street, and a forest at the end. My world revolved around that small space and I knew every inch of it through walking, running, climbing, and playing with the neighborhood kids. Eventually, I branched out, walking to friend’s houses and to school or the mall. 

Yet, it wasn’t long before I was absorbed into the cult of the car. Most middle-class families at that time had just one car and we were no exception. Our car was used mostly to shuttle my parents to work and on the weekends, to visit my grandparents or go to the grocery store. 

My Dad worked for General Motors and he dreamed of owning a Buick. One day, his dream finally came true and I’ll never forget that moment when the neighborhood kids lined the curb and we watched in awe as he drove in with his sleek, navy blue LeSabre, the recognizable tri-shield emblem within a circle, a symbol of prestige, leading the way.

In those days, turning 16 meant getting your driver’s license as soon as possible and I did just that. My parents had recently separated and my brother and I lived with my Dad in a different city. He bought us a used Corvair, so that we could ferry ourselves around to school, work, the skating rink, and parties. We drove that car into the ground. 

During my University days, I was without a car and had to walk, use public transportation, or rely on friends to get around. When I landed my first job after University, I walked to the bus stop and I remember really noticing the changing colors of fall for the first time. But, I was saving for a car, that ultimate symbol of freedom, and bought my first one all on my own, a Chevy Chevette, at the age of 25. 

Owning a car (or two) has become a necessity in most places and I’ve relied on one ever since. When my kids were growing up, we didn’t live in neighborhoods where you could get around easily on foot or even by public transport. I would go for walks in my neighborhood or at a local park but used the car to shop, take my kids to school, or shuttle them to activities. 

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My desire to walk began to blossom on a trip to New York City, where I was able to traverse the gridded streets for miles, mapping the city in my mind through visible landmarks. My husband and I did a couple of hiking trips in Italy and I realized how differently you can experience a place when traveling on foot, rather than by car, bus, or even bicycle.

When I moved to my current town of Niagara-on-the-Lake, I was 55 years old. I began a project to take a contemplative photo every day. Without planning to, I became a daily walker, a peripatetic, “one who walks habitually and extensively.”

At some point, I set an intention to walk 5 kilometers daily, about an hour and a quarter of time walking outside. As a byproduct, I’ve experienced the health benefits of fresh air and exercise for my body and soul. These walks give my mind a rest and sometimes calm any anxiety I’m feeling. A solution to a problem may emerge out of the blue, or I’ll come to some new understanding or connection with something I’m working on. My daily walk has made me more appreciative and aware of the life I’m living and my place in it. 

Over the past few years, I’ve been writing about getting to know the place where you live more intimately, through its history, geology, flora and fauna, weather, and culture. What I discovered along the way is that these daily walks were the foundational practice for learning about my place and nurturing this relationship. 

But it needs to be a particular type of walk. I call it a contemplative walk, one where body, mind, and world are aligned. It’s a state of being present and attentive in a particular time and place. As I walk, I’m in the moment, meandering slowly this way or that, noticing what’s going on around me. My senses are heightened, taking in everything, and the complications of life take a backseat. I’m outside of time, feeling no need to be productive, just like the child I once was, roaming my neighborhood. 

The Radical Qualities of a Contemplative Walk

A walk is an embodied experience.

We spend so much of our time thinking. As a matter of fact, our culture prioritizes thinking. But, too much thinking taxes the mind and, like the body, it needs rest too. With a contemplative walk, the mind gets a rest and the sensual experience takes on more importance; a radical notion.

Walking is the way our bodies engage with the world, and it can enlist all of our physical senses. I can see colors, smell flowers, taste air, hear birds, and touch bark. Walking enables a different kind of thinking, where one can make associations between disparate thoughts.

I like to pick a couple of senses to focus on when I’m walking, for example, listening to sounds and the feeling of my feet touching the ground. This helps me to stay open and present and to see more than I normally would if lost in thought. 

A contemplative walk is slow. 

In her book, Wanderlust, on the history of walking, Rebecca Solnit says that she likes walking “because of its slowness and suspects that the mind, like the feet, works at about three miles an hour.” She cites the ancient Greeks, who had two words for time: chronos (sequential, quantitative time) and kairos (the right time, qualitative time). Kairos is right now; it has a sacred, timeless quality. By going slow, and with the right mindset, we can perhaps enter into kairos time.

Walking is radical because slowness is not prized. Our culture tells us that we need to be productive, efficient, and to get somewhere as quickly as possible. Solnit says that walking, just for the sake of walking, is the closest thing to doing nothing. 

When I was at a meditation and writing retreat led by Natalie Goldberg, we practiced slow walking before writing, and I mean very slow, at about a quarter of our regular speed. Goldberg said that most of the time when we walk, we’re focused on the destination. Our minds are already at this future place, imagining or planning what we’ll do when we get there. Slow walking is a practice that helps us to focus on the journey, not the destination. She advised a radical reframing – receive the world as it comes, one step at a time, and respond accordingly. 

A walk allows me to see details often overlooked.

I love road trips in the car and bicycling is fun too; you can definitely cover more territory. But when it comes to seeing the subtleties of life, walking and sitting are best. 

In his book, The Path of Encounter, Jon McAlice says that people generally have either of two approaches when walking outdoors. Some zig and zag, exploring what catches their fancy, and staying at promising spots longer. Others slowly wander, noticing everything with equanimity – taking in everything as equally worthy. They stop and look closely along the way. Amidst the rubble, they find gems. Which type are you? 

A contemplative walk is this second way. With no agenda or destination, I let my intuition guide me, open to whatever comes to my attention, like animal tracks leading into a thicket. This makes me wonder what animal made those tracks and where they were going. 

It’s important to be attentive to the unexpected. Why? Because if you look too quickly, you might only see what you’re expecting, rather than discovering new opportunities and possibilities. A walk allows space for something new to emerge. 

Walking has also helped me expand my ideas about what is beautiful and what is important. I often see objects or situations that are most often overlooked, or considered not interesting, like a rusted guardrail or patterns in mud. This is certainly counter-cultural. But, they are beautiful or interesting in their own way, and they tell a story about a place. Carefulness for these little things grounds me in the present. 

A daily walk allows me to notice patterns and the relationships between things. 

Daily walking shows me how things are connected and interdependent, like how rain fills the creeks, providing water for all, or how sunshine makes things glow and grow, and trees provide food and shelter. It helps me see how everything belongs and has a part to play. There is no hierarchy - a radical thought!

I also learn about myself on my walks in relation to the place where I live. Recently, I learned of a practice called the dérive, which is a playful exploration of urban space. You bring awareness to the “psychogeography” of a place, that is, certain points that draw you in or repel you. These are psychological effects that affect your behavior. 

I often say that the lake draws me like a magnet. Water has a calming effect for me as it does for many others so this is an obvious example. Other places that draw me are places where people gather, tunnels of trees, and the sounds of music or birds. Sometimes we avoid places that are visually unappealing or seem dangerous or have loud noises coming from them. Signs that say Closed or Keep Out or Danger may draw or repel you depending on your personality. 

A dérive can shake you out of habitual ways. Maybe you take the same route every day or don’t go down a particular street because you don’t think there will be anything interesting there. But, if you allow yourself to playfully explore, you’ll be amazed at the surprises that await.

A walk allows me to witness change.

In the movie Smoke, Harvey Keitel plays Auggie Wren, a cigar store owner in New York City. Wren has taken a picture every day from the same spot on the corner of Third Street and Seventh Avenue at eight o’clock in the morning. His collection includes more than 4,000 pictures. Auggie’s friend, played by William Hurt, is looking at the pictures one day, and he just doesn’t get it. As he flips through the album, he says that they all look the same. Keitel responds, “You’re going too fast. You’re hardly even looking at the pictures. You’ll never get it if you don’t slow down, my friend.” Only when his friend sees a picture of his ex-wife in one of the pictures does he get it. 

By walking every day, I realize that no walk is ever the same. The light is different, the clouds are moving and changing, the debris on the road comes and goes. I’ve witnessed the creek that runs behind my house completely dry, with a small trickle, running quickly, and overflowing. I’ve seen it covered with snow or frozen with ice. It’s never the same. 

The world is constantly changing at every moment, offering unlimited perceptions and possibilities. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is ever fixed - a radical idea.

A walk allows for chance encounters with the world around you. 

“It’s the unpredictable incidents between official events that add up to a life, the incalculable that give it value.” ~ Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust 

Rebecca Solnit calls walking “an improvisational act.” As on any journey, you don’t know exactly what will happen or what you will discover. It’s full of uncertainty and  we don’t tend to like uncertainty very much. She says that you don’t really know a place until it surprises you. 

This openness to whatever comes may lead to challenging moments, but also surprising, joyful ones. One day while walking with a friend and her dog in a nearby park, we encountered a family of five deer. They had stopped dead in their tracks, observing us closely to see what we were going to do. After consulting with each other, they followed their leader, who took off in a wide arc around us. It was an unexpected moment that filled us with joy.

Conclusion

Of course, it needs to be said that being able to wander for over an hour every day is a privilege. I’m still healthy and live in a place where I can walk freely. Not everyone can do this, whether due to physical mobility issues, the walkability of their neighborhood, or for safety reasons. 

Note: If you have a disability or your place isn’t very walkable, you can still engage with the world around you by sitting at a park or even in your own backyard. 

It also depends on who you are. Going back to the car culture, many people do walk daily (or take public transportation), not because they want to, but because they can’t afford a car. As a woman or person of color there may be times of day or places where you don’t feel comfortable walking. 

Rebecca Solnit calls walking “the beginning of citizenship.” We all need to advocate for safe, walkable places for everyone because it is an important way of being in the world, a radical act, and far from doing nothing. Walking is a foundational practice for practicing presence. It allows you to awaken all of your senses, physical and emotional in active engagement with the world around you. 

Can you fit a slow, contemplative walk into your day? You can do it anywhere and for as long as you want - on your way to work, walking the dog, going to lunch, or on an afternoon break. It just might radically change your relationship with the world around you.