Lately I have felt as if I don’t have hardly any time to myself. Which seems very odd considering I now live by myself. If anything, you’d think I’d have an over-abundance of “me” time, certainly not the opposite.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason (or reasons) why I felt this way until I started reading The Lost Art of Walking (The History, Science, Philosophy and Literature of Pedestrianism), by Geoff Nicholson.
And then it suddenly hit me. I have plenty “me” time, I just don’t have the “me” time that I’m used to having; I don’t have the “me” time that really allows me to shut off the world and completely recharge myself.
In Boston, my “me” time typically consisted of one of two things: hanging out at Starbucks for hours on end – sipping on lattes, reading, blogging, people-watching, and just being or walking – walking from Brookline to the Boston Common, walking around the Reservoir, walking down Beacon Street, walking down Comm Ave, walking through different Boston neighborhoods, with the lens of my camera – and sometimes the music on my iPod – being my only sources of distraction.
Here, I haven’t had much of either.
But that is about to change. Thanks to the DC snowpocalypse + The Lost Art of Walking, I have realized what I need to do in order to get a sufficient amount of “me” time. The first of which is easy – I can definitely start spending more quality time at Starbucks. I spend a lot of time at Starbucks, but running in for a double-tall extra-hot latte each morning hardly falls under the category of “quality” time. I need to make a point of allowing for time at Starbucks that isn’t rushed, allowing for time to actually sit down, latte in hand – and partake in the things I love (all of which I mentioned above). The walking part may prove to be more of a challenge…I have to somehow find a way to turn DC into a walking city. Stay tuned for updates on the later.
Walking had certainly always been a pleasure, but it was more than that. For me walking has to do with exploration, a way of accommodating myself, of feeling at home. When I find myself in a new place I explore it on foot. It’s the way I get to know that place. Maybe it’s a way of marking territory, of beating the bounds. Setting foot in a street makes it yours in a way that driving down it never does.
The truth is, the real reason I walk is because I have to. I walk because it keeps me sane.
The above quotes are taken from The Lost Art of Walking. When I read those words, especially the simple sentence – “I walk because it keeps me sane,” the realization of what I needed (and more importantly, what I was missing) hit me like a bolt of lightning.
