The Lost Art of Walking

I am calling this new series (which begins with this post) “The Lost Arts,” because it is about rediscovering the artistry and beauty of simple acts. These are acts we often take for granted or that are merely ordered to other ends. We may do them automatically, without thinking, or we may not even do them at all. Our culture is one that praises fast over slow and more over less, exalting freedom and choice despite expecting conformity and holding in contempt dependence and contemplation.

Although these trends, I think, often cause us to miss what is most beautiful and valuable in life (forsaking what is most beautiful and valuable in ourselves in the process), I believe that we can reclaim this beauty and value. One way this can be done is by focusing on little things (simple pursuits as I mentioned above) and re-seeing them, transforming them into an “art” rather than a meaningless aspect of existence. They are lost, indeed, but not irrevocably so; something which is lost is also something which can be found. It is lost yet not destroyed. Though forgotten, it is still in wait of remembrance.

With this in mind, the first “lost art” I want to discuss is that of walking. Walking is certainly something we all do, if we are able. Although we have other means of transportation, walking is the most fundamental. It is the only means lying solely within our own physical power. The problem is not that walking is necessary or that walking is unavoidable. The problem is that it might be seen as nothing more.

How often is it the case that we don’t walk unless we have to? If we can drive or take some method of public transportation, then we are more likely to do so. Why? Because it is easier, more convenient. Because it is faster. Speed is such a necessity in so many situations in our lives. We need to get somewhere at a certain time; we need to get somewhere to do something else. In this way, we have become destination-oriented. Our thoughts are constantly consumed by the next destination, the next thing we have to do. And so the end outweighs the means; in fact, certain means slip from notice altogether. In my opinion, walking is one of these “means” which has been lost in the shuffle.

We don’t walk. (Okay, yes, we do walk; I haven’t taken leave of my senses), but we don’t just walk, most of the time. We walk in order to get somewhere else. A purpose is always tacked on to our walking. It is not detached; it must act in conjunction to something else. This conception of walking reduces it to mere utility. It is only good insofar as it can help us to achieve another good. Thus it is an act of mechanics; it is most definitely not an art.

If this is true, then we walk but we don’t walk for the sake of walking itself. However, it doesn’t have to be this way. We can re-purpose walking by injecting it with a purpose of its own. But what is the purpose of walking if it is not in getting from Point A to B? I think we have a tendency to define and evaluate purpose only according to things which are visible or obviously productive. In this light, we could see walking as a means of exercise, if we walk vigorously, and this is a good, just as walking to reach a destination is a good. However, walking also has an intrinsic purpose. And this is not something that can, I think, be fully explained. When we are not walking for anything, to get anywhere, to obtain any end in particular, we are just walking to walk.

Yet there are fruits that come from this “purposeless” walking, though they may not be fruits that are immediately seen, harvested, or that can be clearly articulated. For example, I think that if we are walking as an art, we can allow ourselves to wander. Instead of striding along to get to the endpoint as quickly as possible, there is neither endpoint nor pressure. As a result, we can walk at whatever pace we please. As a result, we can walk wherever we please, which is not necessarily where we expected. Just as this destination might be unexpected, so too can the fruits of this form of walking be unexpected, because we are not trying to control them or order them to our own ends.

The art of walking makes us more open to our surroundings. Rather than walking with blinders on, focused entirely on our own agenda, we begin to observe what is going on around us. This might involve observing other people and noticing the little things that make up our neighbourhood, our city- seeing them in a new way. It also might include observing nature- or perhaps a better word to use here is contemplate. In order to contemplate nature, we have to take the time to really look at it. In some ways, I think destination-oriented walking has distanced us from nature and our appreciation of it. We may feel we have to set aside a time for nature, to segregate it into a different place or during some nature-appropriate occasion like a vacation. But nature can be integrated into our daily lives; most of the time, we do not have to go too far to commune with nature, if we choose to. We can go for a ten or twenty minute walk simply to see and to be a part of nature. This gives us much more good than we lose from the time it takes up.

Another richness of the art of walking is that it fosters a spirit of stillness. This stillness does not necessarily imply an absence of sound; it does not mean only walking in unpopulated places. Walking slowly and meaningfully can be an opportunity to step aside from the business and speed of daily life and to simply be. Such stillness can open up to us many new thoughts and ideas. I find walking to be an indispensable aspect of my creativity and creative process. If I do not give myself this time and space to be and to think, then my creativity is stifled before it even begins. It is not given the room to grow or to push to the surface. Whether or not we see ourselves as creative (personally, I think we all are), rediscovering the art of walking can enable us to reflect, to think deeply, and to grow.

However, we must be careful in reclaiming the art of walking, because I think there is a tendency to view it with suspicion. Other people may see you walking and say, “where are you going?” or “why are you going?” They may not understand or they may even look down upon the art of going for the going itself. I think there is also a tendency to place something like this at the bottom of a list of priorities, because it is not necessary. It does not need to be done today.

And yet, going for a walk can actually refresh our minds, our bodies and our spirits, giving us the energy, not only to do more and as much as we can, but to do what we are doing better and with a fuller presence. What’s more, the real fruits that come from a pursuit appreciated for its intrinsic value are the most important and valuable things, far diminishing the weight of the worldly things on which we spend most of our time and effort. For the fruits of walking are (or can be) Joy and Peace, and there are even more fruits that come to us in the aftermath, the subsequent “doing” after such a contemplative experience. Walking is and always will be a part of day-to-day life. But it does not need to be merely an automatic act. We can think of it and we can experience it as an art, by releasing ourselves from agitations and anxieties and so discovering true freedom.