14. Maneuvering in a Tight Spot

Two city blocks past the fountains, the street makes a steep incline. There's a random waste bin on this stretch, so I often I pick up a lot a trash knowing it will be easy to dispose of. There's also a shaded area on the right of my path where people who smoke have their break. Earbuds in, I pass (and smile at) a lot of office workers on this part of the path.

On this particular day, I was making my way up the hill when I noticed this:

A driver was maneuvering his semi on the city street into a loading dock of a local hotel. Cars lined the street on both sides. Forward and backward, forward and backward, he inched his way into the narrow lane.

I stopped walking.

I took my earbuds out.

I watched. And watched. And watched some more. It was a spectacle. I held my breath.

I wasn't the only who stopped to watch.

The driver successfully backed into his spot. I sighed for him.

I noticed an older Asian man was one of fellow spectators. We struck up a conversation as I'd begun to walk away. He explained that he'd served in the military (Army, if I recall) and had driven trucks like that.

“How does he do it?” I asked still breathless by the way the driver had negotiated the tight space and multiple parked cars.

“Just do the opposite,” the gentleman answered. "Everyone thinks it's hard, but it's not if you just do the opposite of what you think you should do. If you need to go to the right, you turn the wheel to the left."

We exchanged pleasantries and then went our separate ways.

His answer rang in my ear. Just do the opposite. On my walking path, I'd found the next lesson on this journey I am on.

For months, the impulse had been to rush head long into the future. To KNOW what came next. To FORCE something to happen. Those had been frenzied times because I didn't actually want to do that, so without knowing fully what I was doing, I'd stopped. I'd felt my way through and decided to do the opposite. To not rush. To not have all the answers. To rest. To feel the discomfort. To lean into it. To walk instead of run.

As I walked away from the expert parking I had witnessed, I sensed I was walking into something really profound. And now, I didn't need to know what. I simply trusted that walking would help me figure it out.

13. Walking Reinforces What I Value

I generally walk with only my phone and head phones. Unless I have decided that I'm going to grab lunch on the walk, I don't carry a wallet.

After I've had my restorative moment at the fountains, I proceed down the street. There's a retail store, Lusso, I pass every day. The merchandise is so beautiful and the music selection puts me in a good mood. I've taken to doing a little browsing before continuing on my path once every few weeks. This store is a visual treat. Everything is priced out of my means, but I allow myself to enjoy the few moments, breathe in the peaceful vibe of the store, and enjoy the thought of making purchases when my budget allows.

I love dishtowels. They have become a favorite souvenir when I travel abroad (or domestically for that matter) because they are lightweight, easy to pack, are practical, and every time I place them on my counter or dry my dishes or hands, glimpses of my trip flash back.

On this particular walk, I found a dishtowel on clearance. It was melon-y orange (a favorite hue) and had the word Darlin on it. I immediately thought of a friend who uses this endearment with me. I took a photo of it, and texted it to him.

This friend shares my interest in minimalism. When I explained that it caught my eye, made me think of him, and was still too expensive on clearance, he replied “the photo is enough.” I refolded the towel and returned it to its place on the table. I knew he was right.

I endeavor to travel light on these daily walks, on trips, and through life in general. Walking fills me in ways that makes extra stuff superfluous. I was grateful that I didn't have my wallet, and to be reminded that I had plenty of dishtowels in my cabinet, and that I could enjoy the simple dishtowel without purchasing it.

"Put yourself in the way of beauty."

- Cheryl Strayed 

12. Labyrinth Epiphany

Adding labyrinth visits to the year-long birthday celebration feels full of serendipity and synchronicity now. The labyrinth as a spiritual practice has become a big part of my life in the past nearly two years. I write about each labyrinth walk because I want to chronicle my journey. I am so glad I have; each visit has gifted me with something fresh and different. I can measure my mental state and well-being by how different I feel from one labyrinth visit to another.

I have two distinct memories of this particular walk in July: it was hot. The sun was blazing when I reached the center. Most importantly, muscle memory informed me that the way I'd been walking my lunch time path felt just like walking the labyrinth.

What do I mean? My steps on the labyrinth are always deliberate and slower than my regular quick pace. I think about how I place each foot on the ground. On this day as I wound my way into the center, my body told me that I was doing the same thing each work day. I found this revelation astounding—and comforting. Just as the yoga practitioner endeavors to take the practice with them off the mat, I was thrilled to discover that I was taking the meditative elements of the labyrinth off the circuit and into my daily walks.

No wonder I feel so refreshed, calm, and transformed. The meditation is doing its work on me. If this is how I feel now, how much different will I feel in another six months? Another year? This kind of uncertainty is exciting.

11. Sun Kissed

I am the consummate bookworm. I spend very little time outside preferring to sit by a window gazing at the beautiful outdoors with a book or journal on my lap. This walking habit has moved me both out-of-doors and outside my comfort zone. It's been good for me.

I haven't applied sunscreen on these walks this summer. My skin needs at least a little un-sunscreened access to Vitamin D, and the route includes a fair bit of shade.

My daughter, Cadence, notices everything. She's commented in summers past as her skin bronzed with time spent out doors how my skin remained pale--a few shades darker than Elmer's glue. She's also noticed how this summer my nose, the tops of my shoulders and my feet have been sun kissed. She's pleased. Relieved even to know her mom can get a tan.

I admit I like how the sun has sprinkled cinnamon freckles across the bridge of my nose and brushed tiny tan lines over the tops of my sandaled feet. The walking and the Vitamin D teamed up to improve my mood. They conspired to help me feel more stable and settled in this new life. I feel a new bounce in my step.

10. Some days the Walk is Enough

If you have read my blog for any amount of time, you'll know that goal setting has been something I have taken seriously. Some would say obsessively.

The trash pick-up element of my daily walks began to feel a little obsessive. There's just so much trash to be picked up! I seem to be the only one who cares! The only one who bends down to pick it up!

I am learning that when I feel the presence of too many exclamation marks in my internal monologues it's time to breathe and examine what's up.

I am learning that some days the walk is enough. There are days that I do not need to save every sidewalk I encounter from litter. I can simply walk, notice the litter, and keep walking. Since I walk the same route every day, I have a chance to clear the path another day if that particular piece of litter is still waiting for me. In this way, the walking and de-littering become a game and the obsession eases.

This part of the walking routine is a form of meditation. On the walk, the litter symbolizes the thoughts that meditation instructs us to let pass by like clouds. It's hard to do. To let things pass. To not get obsessed.

It's hard. And then I practice. And the days pile up and it gets easier.

9. A Pause on the Path

8. Silence Contributes to Healing

“Menders of all times and places have taught that silencing the thoughts in our heads and opening to the experiences of the body and emotions is the basis for all healing. It's the only means by which we can reclaim our true nature or feel the subtle cues telling us how to find our way through life.” 

 

- Martha Beck

I have read this quote before, but it strikes me with new understanding in the context of my daily walking. Silencing my thoughts usually seems like an impossible task, but the walking is showing me that it is possible--if only in small doses or a few paces at a time. In those quiet mid-day moments, I experience a taste of wordlessness, which creates space to feel my way through the grief and adjustment and uncertainty of this time. I am grateful for the wisdom of teachers like Martha. She reminds me that I can make it through this season of life, indeed I am doing it, and the walking is a guide.