In the field behind my home, supple blades tingle-tickle between my toes as I wobble to avoid the wildflowers—spots of yellow, white, sometimes purple.
In Brooklyn, where I grew up, I weaved through the throng, absorbing each honk, shout, and billboard flash reverberating over the sparkling, gritty concrete.
As I cross Bissell Quad at Hotchkiss, copper leaves crunch underfoot and trees murmur overhead.
These are my routes; these are my roots. The ones I love and have walked now hundreds of times—moving, breathing, absorbing, grounding, observing, wondering, reflecting. How many different things have I noticed, or thought up, or realized along these familiar walks?
I have had some of the most meaningful conversations on walks and some of my favorite laughs. When I walk with someone, we walk and we talk. Or we walk and we just are, and that can be another form of listening.
We’re fully present, because that’s all there is. Me and them and the world around us; there is infinitely more to take in. But I also can’t help peering off the path and wondering what lies beyond? The lines on my map have grown, crossed, and layered—then started to reach blank pages.
Walking has allowed me to take things in just as they are and as they are ready. When I walk, I meet the world before me; my inside world and the outside world as they are at present. Each shifts slightly as I pass through, and that’s why I walk.
I’m not a finished person—I don’t think anyone ever is—and in walking I discover myself and all that is around me as we go.
What started as only a sprinkle of routes—my roots—has now grown into a sprawling, ever-so-colorful map. I aspire to keep re-reading it, sharing it, and adding to it—one step at a time in this whirlwind world of leaps and bounds. I welcome you to join me.
