Thoughts on Walking: The Aimless Wander

Learning to walk when I want to run means learning to appreciate the meandering path.

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.” — William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Late in 2024, I realized that I hardly ever walked. Sure, I ran a lot and rode my bike some but, if I wore my fitness watch all day, by the time I was in bed with a Kindle in hand, I’d maybe walked 1,000 steps. The fact that I moved so little was an eye-opening realization. Is this why people get treadmill desks?

I can attribute my lack of walking to working from home. Each day, I wake up, walk downstairs, and sit at my desk. I get up to use the bathroom, pet my cats, and make lunch, but otherwise, I’m seated at my desk clicking and typing the hours away, my body unmoving. I hadn’t thought much of my lack of movement — because I run or do yoga most days of the week — until I read an article about NPR’s Body Electric study in collaboration with Columbia. According to their findings, participants who made intentional time in their day for walking (or other movement breaks) reported decreased fatigue and more positive emotions. Participants who took more movement breaks saw an increased number of positive impacts in their day-to-day life.

A picture I took while walking: University of Montana campus in Missoula, MT, at night.

All of this was very inspiring and it seemed like a great way to get outside. We have a perfect ten-minute walking loop in our neighborhood, making it super easy for me to do this. So, like anyone diving head first into a New Year’s resolution, I decided to walk everyday.

A few days in I found I didn’t really enjoy walking. Walking was boring and slow, and most of the time, felt completely pointless. I wasn’t going anywhere. I tried to rationalize this myself by saying that when I run I’m not going anywhere either, but I do usually have a goal in sight. There’s an upcoming race or I’m working on speed or something.

Walking is just… walking.

My aimless wander around the neighborhood felt unproductive and drove me stir crazy. I looked at my watch every few minutes to see if I was any closer to the arbitrary goal I had set for myself. I tried listening to podcasts and audiobooks but found myself distracted by my desire to get back home and sit, once again. I thought perhaps I was experiencing jolts of anxiety before recognizing the feeling as boredom. Typically, I don’t experience boredom, so the feeling was unfamiliar to me. Sure, things can be boring, but I often evade boredom’s deep all-consuming restlessness.

The boredom I experienced while walking intertwines with the same feeling that keeps me busy with activities. I always have projects to work on, places to go, books to read, movies to watch, things to knit, stories to write, and art to make. I like to have my mind occupied, my hands working, my brain thinking.

But walking rejects the need to be occupied because, by default, it is slow. I don’t like when something takes a long time, especially when something takes a long time without some kind of productive outcome. And, as I’ve said before, I don’t have much patience to spare.

Another a picture took while walking in Missoula. I think I was coming home from a study session at a coffee shop and loved how the sliver of moon looked against the bright blue sky.

I started walking anyway, and I remembered when I lived in Missoula, MT, how, despite owning a bicycle, I often walked everywhere. I walked nearly a mile to my classes. I walked to the movie theater on the other side of the river. I walked to the grocery store and carried canvas bags back to my apartment. Sometimes I walked to the floral studio where I worked. Many of my friends walked, too. While cycling is much faster — and the free city bus system even more so — I repeatedly chose the most time consuming way to get places, leaving earlier and returning later than I “needed” to.

One of the reasons I didn’t mind walking in Missoula is because a lot of people walked. People were walking all over town, all over the trails and mountains that marked the boundaries of the city. For the most part, things were centrally located. Having a car wasn’t necessary. But when I moved back to the outskirts of Atlanta, and then James Island, I lost that special connection I had for the world around me and the appreciation I had for going slow. Part of that, I think, is because in Missoula my walks had purpose; I always had a destination in sight.

In my effort to improve my life and health through walking, I have to break through the notion that there needs to be a destination. Perhaps wandering aimlessly cures my depletion in patience. When I listen to the songs of birds, smell the pluff mud, and see how the sun reflects golden light off the marsh during sunset, I’m reminded of the massive ecosystem that exists whether or not I pay attention. And then I realize — I don’t need a destination or a purpose. I don’t need to be productive.

I simply need to enjoy the fact of my existence.