walking

I get up, and after a coffee decide to spend the whole day on foot, just walking, vowing not to return till after dark. It’s one of those prized weekend days where I am entirely free. I turn my phone on do-not-disturb mode and set off.

A crisp morning unfolds as leaves crunch beneath rhythmic steps ; my legs fall so easily into the steady motion they’ve evolved to do, content in that purpose. My whole body follows in tune, as if it knows that the destination doesn’t matter, only the next footfall on solid concrete. Like a metronome, carrying me forward in time and space, I watch the mind unfold. Like a radio, thoughts think themselves; ideas emerge from the ether. In the moment, some seem like insights, but like most daytime radio, it’s mostly garbage. A live podcast of identity, memory, beliefs plays out in this space.

But given enough steps, given enough attention, enough lightness - you drop a place where thoughts come less often, less personally, less ‘sticky-ily’. Then its only the world. The chirping of birds, the honking of car horns and the thrum of chitter-chatter. The wind lightly brushing your fingers, the warmth of the body in stark contrast to the cool peripheries. The pavement melts into each step, the world just appearing in front of you, no separation. No time. Only the next, step. This step.

I spend the whole day outside, browsing bookstores, grabbing coffee, sitting on park benches, people watching, world watching.

At lunch, I overhear two gay men talking about the difficulty of modern dating. “It’s so exhausting, you know getting ready, going out. It’s gotten to the point where I’d rather just stay in bed”. They talk of their previous relationships, ’toxic ex’s’ and how the job search is going. I’m like a secret voyeur.

In the park, I’m enthralled by the various puppies and dogs that roam around. A small puppy in a red jumper barks angrily at a lazy bulldog who saunters past him unbothered. A young girl sits on the bench and quietly reads her book. Two girls are gathering up the autumn leaves and depositing them in a giant pile. An old man in a full suit and walking stick, sits in silence watching the passerby’s; a mirror to myself who sits in a black leather jacket and hoody.

In the coffee shop, I sit next to two women, an elderly British lady and a middle aged Indian lady who gossip about life, relationships and everything inbetween. “Paul is losing his hair…. just like his father”. Nameless faceless Paul suddenly has a space in my brain.

In the National Portrait gallery, I trace the footsteps of a gentleman who artfully dissects each portrait, drinking it in with his entire being. (I liked the contrast of the picture below).

On my way back, I’m captured by a pianist at St Pancras, totally immersed in the act of creation- eyes closed - spinning melody out of thin air. I don’t know how long I stood there for (25-30 minutes I suppose) until he finally packed up and left.

I’m left stunned. Alive. All my senses marked ‘on’.

The whole day passes by in a timeless reverie. An unfolding. Any seeming problems that one holds during the week, like Scooby do ghosts are revealed as imposters - less than that actually, just ordinary, like the itch you might get on your knee.

Herzog writes: “The world reveals itself to those who travel by foot”.

Serendipity is what you get from walking. You never know what is going to unfold.
Walking to me is like having a conversation, a heart-to-heart with the world. Realising that the boundaries that are so rigid, defined and fixed, are in actuality porous, fluid and ever changing.