The Walking Life

I live exactly 2.1 miles from the school where I teach. It takes me roughly 43 minutes to walk, 15 minutes to bike, and 7 minutes to drive.

I used to only know the last of those three measurements.

On the average weekday, I drove to school. I slept in late (if 6:30 counts as late), drove by Starbucks on the way for my café Americano, and rolled into the school parking lot about a half hour before my first class. Easy drive there, easy drive back.

Why change anything?

I started walking to school because I had to. My car had a couple issues and needed to be in the shop for a bit, so I committed to the idea of a couple days without wheels. I woke up at 5:30 the first day, made myself extra coffee to take in my thermos (since Starbucks would add significantly to the mileage of walking), and left with enough time to get me there early enough to do prep work before class.

A couple days turned into a week, which turned into a month. And here’s what I learned:

One. Walking the 45 minutes there and back give me time to wake up, to think, to prepare. It gives me a sense of accomplishment and allows me to appreciate the nature along the walk.

Two. There is a man who walks his little terrier every morning in the park. He is old, and so is his dog. They love each other. One morning as I walked by, the old man crouched slowly to his dog’s upturned face and held the gray muzzle in his cupped palm, and they just gazed at each other.

Three. Gasoline is expensive and I wasn’t buying it anymore.

Four. Coffee from Starbucks is expensive, and mine actually tasted a bit better. I no longer even wanted Starbucks coffee in those paper white and green cups.

Five. I became stronger. After months of “not having the time” to exercise as much as I would like, I now walked over 4 miles a day and noticed the difference. I slept better, felt calmer, felt fitter.

Six. Audiobooks. I love them. I’d never been into them before, always preferring paper to technology, but it is a truly beautiful thing to spend the first hour of my morning listening to the stories of Stephen King or hearing Matthew McConaughey recount his experiences with minimalism, bettering himself, acting and becoming the icon he is. There are days I don’t want to get home because I’m in such a pivotal part of whatever book is playing in my headphone that day.

Seven. I no longer had to worry about parking on my street or anywhere for that matter.

Eight. I became more organized. When I was driving I used to just toss clothes, books, and sometimes trash into the back seat. Now that I carried what I needed, I held myself accountable for everything. Clothes from track practice went into the hamper. Books went back on the shelf or my desk. Papers I didn’t need went in the trashcan. And those white and green cups stained with the dregs of coffee no longer stacked up on the console. They ceased to exist.

Nine. I live in a beautiful neighborhood. There’s a long brick wall along the street next to mine with ivy growing all along it. Someone has created a captivating graffiti visual along the back of the Whole Foods I walk by. There are three gorgeous parks along my walking route to school. One is a path around a reservoir where I see the old man and his dog. The other is the site of an old mansion, a sprawling pasture like field with trees and ancient looking architectural structures. The third is smaller: a sloping garden nurtured by various members of the community who come and tend to their plants at various times.

Ten. I really see: people, places, life, air, water. The walk slows down my experience with each of these aspects of my life and allows me to see as I haven’t before.

I have my car back, but something about the walking commute has stuck with me, and I don’t drive unless I’m going somewhere inaccessible by the commuter system or just too far to walk in a reasonable time. Something that began as an inconvenience has granted me an experience that betters my lifestyle and hopefully has made a difference beyond just me.