Among the many pleasures for which I am grateful are my long, mindless walks. I’ll often have a destination in mind, but no purpose: a bench by the water, a bookstore, a bar, or just a loop around the neighborhood. I took such a walk this morning. I was up early. I read. I wrote. From my sofa where I drank my coffee, I watched the sky turn bright and blue and clear. I put on my shoes and a hoodie and walked to the Bay where I sat on a bench and listened to the waves, the runners, the birds. I jotted down some observations and sentiments: sandpipers scurrying across the beach, the sign that says “sensitive habitat,” the trawler returning to the harbor. I walked home.
On my return walk I was feeling deeply appreciative for the quiet. Appreciative for the time and space to let my mind wander and see and listen. I was also feeling guilty and apologetic. I was remembering a recurring argument that I would have with an ex. On the surface, we were arguing over communication style and frequency. Back then, I was a constant texter and quick responder (at least with her). She was the type of person who might forget her phone back at the house or not check it for a while. I would get impatient when the texts went unanswered. On some level, my thinking might have been that I also have all of these other things to do (work, chores, etc., etc.) and am trying to prioritize our time for talking/texting/whatever. On some level, I took it personally that she wasn’t doing the same. On weekday mornings, I would get up early, commute the 40 or 50 minutes from her place to mine, and then exercise and get ready for work while she slept in and eased her way into her morning. I was in the office by 8am so that I could get out early and commute back to her place and repeat. She’d wake up at 7, maybe be in the office by 10 maybe come home by 6. Our pacing and paces were different, and at times I felt as though I was shouldering the time burden required to make the relationship work (commuting back and forth, earlier starts to the day, etc., etc.). Ironically, she felt the same way – felt like she never had time to herself.
Those were the thoughts that crept in, briefly, on my walk home this morning – a sort of “I get it now.” I was mildly annoyed when the guy using the leaf blower interrupted the morning quiet. I shake my head in judgement of the people running or walking and having a conversation on their phone – why would you want to do that so early in the morning? I get mildly annoyed when my phone buzzes and tugs at my attention while I’m enjoying a morning walk. I get it now.
It wasn’t until the shutdown during the pandemic when I started to take long walks along the Mississippi River that I began to truly appreciate that type of time, quiet, and solitude. I think about this a lot. Not so much those arguments or that ex, but how much time I willingly spend on my own. I could take these walks with friends, but I don’t really want to. These quiet spaces have become somewhat sacred for me and I’m not sure I’d invite many people into them. That was the other thing that made feel guilty or apologetic. Maybe she felt like she had invited me in to a sacred space and all I did was stomp around and make noise.
Walking along the small craft harbor, I listened as the wind rattled the masts of the sail boats. I looked across the Bay to where the hills were little more than silhouettes in the morning haze. Turning on Fillmore Street towards home and away from the water, I watched the gulls circling above. By the middle school, three buses (the 22) idled, the bus drivers talked. People started their commutes. Kids walked to school. The day was warming up in the morning sun and I was, once again, appreciative for the luxury of being able to pay attention to it all.