I pause at the water

The power in solo walks and awakening your bones to beauty.

I am a fast walker, generally speaking. At only 5'0" tall, many are surprised at the pace I can maintain. Most of my middle and high school memories - other than the constant identity crises and learning a backpack on wheels did not, in fact, make me cooler - involve darting like a minnow between the gangly bodies of my peers to reach my destination. My in-laws were stunned at how quickly I eclipsed the cobblestone pathways of Edinburgh. Looking back, I can attribute that mostly to being 8 weeks pregnant with my oldest, possessed by nausea and ravenous hunger at the same time, likely headed for the nearest cafe.

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As a mother to 3 children 4 and under, my days move at a similar speed. Brain cell real estate is hard to come by when they are all up by 6:30 a.m., needing assistance with various stages of toileting, and demanding to be fed before the sun is decent. I try to balance this with getting up at 4:00a.m., oftentimes the only chance I will get for a quiet house and hot cup of coffee. While I generally enjoy the chaotic life I have chosen, I can’t hide that I often feel frazzled, on edge as though somehow I am missing something. A loneliness pervades my existence. The joy I often found in creative solitude, whether in books or baking or art or writing, even performing once to a darkened audience, feels like an elusive stranger from my past I should bring up in therapy.

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Recently a friend shared that a few years ago she had started to wonder if she was depressed. A holistic doctor recommended she take a solo walk - no kid, no dog, just her. Unsurprisingly, it helped. (Wouldn’t it be great if things like this were not only prescribed, but commonplace in acknowledging our needs?) Walks have been a form of meditation for me for years. However, her statement made me realize I couldn’t remember the last time I had ambled along unattached to anyone in a spit-up-covered baby carrier. No stroller to push getting awkwardly stuck on the bumps in the sidewalk. An uninterrupted audio book in my earbuds. The ability to walk fast, if I wanted. I laced up my boots, told my husband I wanted to take a walk alone, left my despondent children (faces pressed against the glass and all), and hit the pavement.

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Initially I powered around our usual loop with the gusto I was accustomed to. Sweat trickled down my chest and a podcast about preparing my best fall schedule tried to fill my distracted mind. It was nice, but I wouldn’t call hustling around your neighborhood to return to your crying children the best experience.

I didn’t give up.

The next time, I slowed down a bit. I carefully selected an audio book on life and creativity and headed determinedly into the rain.

The more of these walks I embark on, I notice the ease in which slowness finds my limbs, my thoughts. So much in fact, that lately all I want to do is pause at the water.

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There is a river near my home and on my regular route you can stop to watch the wildlife. It’s nearly impossible to see if you are in a hurry. The view is through a gap in a chainlink fence, often bramble or vine covered depending on the season. In early Autumn, when the leaves have yet to fully commit to their departure, you still have to contort your body in different positions to get a glimpse of the water and its visitors. My favorite is the Great Blue Heron. It sits so still that you would

nearly miss its silhouette until it suddenly catches a fish or takes flight above you, a lean arc of grey and longing.

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When was the last time you gave yourself permission to awaken your bones to beauty?

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Recently Read

I don’t take this phrase lightly - this book has profoundly changed my life. More on that soon.

Currently Reading

You can find most of my books at Goodreads, though I am a tad forgetful about updating it.

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So Long, Farewell, Until Next Time.

If you enjoyed my waxing poetical on life, both the lovely and the hard, stay tuned for more. I also hope to share the things I enjoy along the way.

As always, feel free to share.

Warmly with Love,

Jessica