I once walked three hours in the flattest pair of Vans I owned, with my brother, across the National Mall in DC, in sub-10-degree weather. And, I’d do it all over again.
Walking has been one of the most significant hobbies I’ve picked up. It’s strange how something so simple has reshaped the reality around me. When I walk, my mind unspools, my thoughts coming into full view, laid out in front of me like a map. Walking has taught me who I am. It’s how my stories take shape and evolve. Reflecting while staying present in my environment has shaped a lot of my relationships.
When I was an undergrad at UC Davis, late-night walks were how I connected with a new girl I’d met. Our conversations spurring from my love of science fiction and MMA, hers from a lifetime as a seasoned dancer and black belt in taekwondo. That person eventually became my girlfriend, and I think a big part of what connected us was the freedom to speak our minds while just existing in each other’s presence.
Walking has also been central to how I’ve changed as a person. It carried me through the barren, empty fields of Arkansas, where I learned there was more to life than working for the biggest grocery chain in the world. My walks to work gave me space to sit with the anguish of feeling like my job was meaningless, and, eventually, to separate my self-worth from that pointless agony.
Now, I walk a mile across the NIH campus every morning, marveling at one of the largest hospitals in the world dedicated to researching diseases with patient populations smaller than a hundred. It reminds me that the sidewalks we follow cross through wildly different environments, and each one carries its own quiet sense of hope and a chance to drive toward something bigger.
I think that’s the thing about walking nobody tells you when you’re starting out on your own path, whatever that looks like for you. If you're early in your own journey and it feels unclear right now, that's not a sign you're behind. It might just mean you haven't taken the walk yet.