Walking

At home, in New Jersey, I used to walk at the ocean. I'd walk along the beach or through sandy trails or down the bike path that wound through holly forests, beaches and historical landmarks. In the morning, when the sun was rising gloriously over the blue and white waves; in the afternoon after a work-out at the gym, still invigorated from the exercise high; in the evening, just before sunset, when it was quiet and still and I had a moment to sift through the day; I'd walk. I loved smelling the salty sea air, drifting in from the open waters; hearing the cries of the gulls, soaring above me on a gust of wind; and listening to the waves singing their meditative song as they crashed upon the shore. I enjoyed the peace, the quiet, the solitude. I liked knowing that I was doing something good for myself, working toward a goal, taking steps toward fulfilling a dream. I felt accomplished, healthy, strong. I felt alive.

In Yellow Springs (Ohio), I walked in the Glen. The nature preserve, a block or two from my tiny apartment opened up before me like an eden. I tackled the trails - across the river, up steep grades, over rocks, through thick forests. I followed unknown paths - not knowing where they would lead, but hoping for a great adventure. I meditated by the waterfalls - just listening to the sound of the water. I sang songs to myself or made up stories or worked through a problem or just quieted my mind as I strolled along the wooded paths. I talked to trees. I searched for birds. I marveled at the vistas, a new one always up around the next corner. I walked every day, at one point. It was my meditation, my practice, my routine. When I didn't walk, I felt lost, something was missing. Walking centered me. I was focused, at peace, alive.

I'm not walking anymore. I've moved away from the ocean, away from the woods. I live in a small mid-western town with no hiking trails, no bike path, no water. Walking here feels different. It's not as fun, not as fascinating, not as wild as the ocean or the woods or the waterfalls. It's a nice town - pretty, peaceful, safe. People say hello, they wave and smile. The yards are manicured, flowerbeds pepper the lawns, and the sound of the church bells ring quietly through the air. I'm not complaining about the town. I live here now. I chose it. But I haven't yet found my walking place. I haven't settled into my stride.

I am reaching, now, searching. I need something to grab onto to ground me, center me, settle me. It is different here. It's much less "me" than anywhere I have ever lived before. But it is who I am now. Or it is who I have become. I need to get back to my walking. I need to find a place to call my own - one of beauty, of peace. I need a place where my feet can feel the earth, my lungs can fill with fresh air, my mind can be free. I need to find a path - or make one of my own - that will keep me alive.