Walking

Sometimes when I have something on my mind I go for a walk. Especially now that’s it’s warmer out, every time I sit behind a desk or on a couch, I just get the urge to go out and breathe the fresh crisp air.

I usually walk around my neighbourhood, although sometimes I’ll find that I’ve wandered pretty far off, almost without realizing it. I love discovering new little streets. Sometimes I walk around the perimeter of a cul-de-sac, because I think nobody ever stops to appreciate them as they hectically run from point A to point B. They’re just there on the side minding their own business and not demanding any attention.

As I walk I think and imagine and dream. I listen to music or I sing. I find that the music that goes through my head determines how I feel during my walk. Sometimes I listen to loud blaring rock and pretend that I’m a misunderstood lost soul. Sometimes I listen to remixes of my favourite pop-songs and look forward to the next time I’ll go out dancing. And sometimes I’ll listen to slow acoustic songs that make me the best kind of sad, remembering people and places in a nostalgic haze.

Whenever I pass by a playground, I allow myself the simple pleasure of going as high as I can on the swings. I start of slow, swinging my legs back and forth, and as I gain momentum, I tilt my head all the way back. I look at my surroundings from a disorienting upside-down perspective and I’m glad when I straighten my head back up. And then, when I slow down a little bit, I jump of the swing and keep walking.

On my way back to my home, I like to pass by this retirement home, because I like to look in the windows. I like to see all of the different bed lamps that don’t match. It reminds me that there are individual people living there. And then I wonder if they’re happy living in this retirement home, and if I’ll be happy when I’m retired. And I always check on this one window that’s on the second-highest floor. Day or night, there’s always a Christmas tree with white lights right by the window. I wonder why they never take it down. Could it be that the person living there really likes Christmas and doesn’t want to risk waiting a whole year for it to come around? It is a retirement home after all. There’s something sad and beautiful about that permanent Christmas tree, I think.

By the time I get home I’ve convinced myself that I’ve had enough since I’d been walking for a solid hour, but often times I can’t help going out again. After all, every time I see something different, and think about something else, and discover something new about a street or ally, or playground, or building or even about myself. I highly recommend it.

If anybody understands the reference of the picture below, we’re kindred spirits, I just know it.

Image

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