I read, or heard, or dreamt that Henry David Thoreau walked up to eight hours a day.
At one time in my life I was a “walker”. I walked up to three miles a day at that time, usually before I left for the job. Then, I transitioned into running and I considered walking as a prelude to running. Now, I don’t run. And, I only walk when necessary to move the overweight and slothful body from point A to point B.
However, last night, I walked. Intentionally. It was late, after 10:00 pm. It was a short walk, only a mile, around the neighborhood.
I’m tired of laying in bed in the evenings, mindlessly watching You Tube videos to pass time before I drift off to a dream. I’m tired of being trapped in this depression that never lifts.
A long, over twenty year chapter of my life is coming to a quick close. Two people in particular who I would have sincerely believed would have supported me and the one I dearly love despite their misgivings even if only due to the same familiar blood flowing in our veins have not. I cry, sadden to concluded their compromise and love is only granted when their narcissism allows. In this case, it is not given and thus the chapter comes to an end.
So, I walked a mile to walk away and close this chapter and leave it and them in the past. Of course, the mile was not long enough. I will need to walk many more miles to seal a lead wight on this, to close it tight and move on.
I came across this essay on the philosophical benefits of simple walking.
But now I need to just walk on.