Great literature is full of walks, some epic, some contemplative. Sam and Frodo journeyed through Middle Earth to destroy the One Ring in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy. They traversed some of the most arduous terrain in fictional history, taking them from the Shire to Mount Doom and covering hundreds of miles on a singular quest. In contrast, Virginia Woolf’s Clarissa takes a meditative walk through the heart of London in Mrs. Dalloway. Here, she contemplates life, loss, and the passage of time on a fine, hot June morning. Each journey involves immersion in the moment; a mission to complete—whether it’s sorting one’s thoughts or taking on a heavy task.
A few years ago, I opened a fortune cookie, and it read: Time, nature, and patience are the greatest healers. I held onto it for some reason. I didn’t know how prescient those words would be until this year.
The first half of this year is one I’d wipe from my memory if I could, but that’s not how life works. So instead, I soldier on, discarding the mess and keeping what still serves me. The passing of four beloved family members, including my beautiful Mom, a job switch, and trying to find meaning amid the upheaval is the work I must now do. To maintain my equilibrium through it all, I walk. A lot. My twice-daily walks have been a respite, a reset, and a balm for my soul—a constant when all the pieces keep shifting.
One thing I’ve stopped doing on my walks is wearing my earbuds and listening to music. Even though music heals, I choose nature. I walk the beautiful campus of Saint Mary’s College, where I recently began my new job as a writer and managing editor on the Marketing and Communications team. Here, I observe beauty that’s by design. I feast on the sights and sounds of water, wind, birds, and the rustle of the leaves on colossal sycamores and maples. Both my new job and this stunning campus have been bright spots in an otherwise dismal year.
Engaging in my surroundings rather than tuning them out has opened my eyes to so much I missed when I walked plugged in. The changing seasons perfectly elucidate nature’s way of telling us change is inevitable; it’s the driving force of life, even though we usually fight it at every step.
I’ve come to need my walks as much as I need food, water, and oxygen. These two-a-days began back in January, shortly after I returned from tropical Costa Rica. The cold, Midwestern winter slapped me out of my stupor. I bundled up in my cocoon of layers and my rugged boots, setting out on days both blustery and brilliantly sunlit. The cold exhilarated and energized me. Reflecting back, I found those walks easier than my recent ones in this gates-of-hell summer we’re now in the midst of.
The heat’s not stopping me either. I can’t always take my dog, a magnificent husky-shepherd mix. He can’t slip out of his luxurious fur coat as easily as I can shed my layers of clothes. Walking in hot weather requires adaptation, which has been my sole focus this year. I leave earlier in the morning or go later at night. I seek out shady paths, wear sunscreen, and carry water. Combating the heat is a lot like Sam and Frodo’s passage through the Dead Marshes, only I haven’t been captured by Orcs…yet. The second half of this year is already getting better, and I take it one step at a time.
Numerous studies have shown both the physical and psychological benefits of walking. In the early months after my Mom died, my anxiety was so bad I couldn’t sit still. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. The only way around that was through my own Dead Marshes. A journey begins with one step.
Walking clears my head and has helped me accept the impermanence of everything. It fills me with gratitude for what I still have. What I see, hear, and experience today won’t be the same tomorrow, even if I’m walking the same route. I feel closest to my Mom when I walk. It’s where the veil of her world and mine gets thin enough for me to feel her presence. Although she’s gone from me physically, she’s everywhere that I open my eyes to. The 13th century Sufi poet and mystic Rumi best summed up the essences of my journey when he said, “As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.”
Music: "My Adidas" by Run-D.M.C.
