In his 1862 essay "Walking,” published by the Atlantic one month after his death, Thoreau wrote that he had met only one or two people in his lifetime who understood how to take a good walk, “who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering.”
In the mid 19th Century, Thoreau was concerned that walking had become a lost art. He believed most people were too preoccupied, too distracted by the trivialities of modern life, to really saunter – which is to say, to walk freely without the necessity of destination or without any particular goal other than to admire the beauty of the world.
I think of Thoreau’s essay on walking when I head to the farm after work and do my best to throw off tension by taking a short stroll, sometimes just circling the front yard in bare feet. He speaks to me in his distinctively snide tone:
“When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics and shopkeepers stay in their shops not only all the forenoon, but all the afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs, so many of them, — as if the legs were made to sit upon, and not to stand or walk upon, — I think that they deserve some credit for not having all committed suicide long ago.”
Can you see me in the building where I teach, within its thick cinder block walls, gazing out of my classroom window (At least I have windows!) at the distant treeline, thinking of these words?
Back in August, a “news” article appeared on my phone screen. It was one of those Today.com articles that tells people what they already know.
“What is silent walking?” the title asked. “The latest viral workout trend has some intriguing benefits.”
My first thought, naturally, was cynical. Are we so lost as a civilization that the benefits of walking are news?
I started but almost stopped reading when the author, Daryl Austin, opened by describing how a TikTok influencer had shared her walking journey online. Her nutritionist encouraged her to take 30 minute walks instead of doing hardcore cardio. The real inspiration came when her boyfriend challenged her not to engage in social media while doing so.
After my initial judgement, I came to appreciate the arc of this walking tale, which discussed the Zen Buddhist roots of this “fad,” the ancient practice of walking meditation.
The article defined silent walking as walking without distraction: no phone, no pet, no friend, no cigarette. It included tips: find a quiet place in nature, take care of bodily needs beforehand, focus on feelings, breathing, and surrounding beauty. It ended with a list of potential medical benefits and with psychologist Amanda Darney proclaiming that multitasking is the antithesis of mindfulness.
Walking without a phone! What a revolutionary idea! Like Jefferson said (paraphrasing), the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of patriots.
Sincerely, though, this short Today.com article got me thinking about my own walking habits. More often than not, I walk not alone but with my phone. When nature offers me a lovely sight, somewhere among my first thoughts are, That would look nice on my instagram story. Oftentimes, this is more of a desire than a coherent thought. Actually, taking a picture and sharing it has become somewhat automatic.
In other words, this article made me feel that I had been failing to appreciate the real quality of nature, Kant’s Ding an sich, the beauty of the thing in and of itself. I was Emerson’s worst nightmare, a man moved by a machine.
It should be stated now that I am incredibly privileged when it comes to the walking game. I happen to live in a (mainly – other than the sounds of farming equipment) quiet place in nature. I have healthy legs to stand and walk upon. There is a natural path around the farm without glass or other sharp materials, so, I can walk in my bare feet (grounding!) if I choose.
At first, the feeling of walking without a phone is alarming to the instagram-story-mind. I started in August, on weekends and after work, attempting to walk for 30 minutes at least, leaving my phone behind. I witnessed incredible beauty immediately, as if the universe were dangling a social media carrot. This beauty gnawed at me. There were times I wanted to run back and grab my phone. I did not give in.
One day, I watched a pair of indigo buntings in a cherry laurel tree, rare and transient visitors. They chirped and waltzed round one another, hopping up and down through forest green branches, the male’s blazing blue trailing through the air as he danced. I sat for maybe twenty minutes in awe. The birder in me wanted to record this, even though I knew an attempt would be futile. But again, it made me consider what I had been missing when I placed my phone between myself and a drama such as this.
Over time, the voice of the instagrammer in my heart faded. Each day, when it came time to walk, I found myself excited about the idea of separating from my phone. I will still take photos on other walks or bike rides or while gardening. But setting this boundary every day has been rewarding. I want to be connected to the place I’m in. I want to see it and feel it with my head and my feet. I want to know what birds come and go and what plants show themselves and when. I want to love this land and give it what I can while I can, and I want to introduce my daughter and others to nature without distraction. The goal is to expand this experience. I will report back.
Also, I’d like to be the kind of walker Thoreau would be proud to know, someone who can walk well alone, or with others — maybe some of you?
To the Today.com article and its author Daryl Austin, thank you. I am so arrogant and foolish at times, and I forget that wisdom is often hiding in plain sight.
If you have some intentional walking experiences of your own you’d like to share, I’d love to hear about them. Much Love and good walking.
This is such a lovely reminder. Since I live in a not *quite* as bucolic neighborhood, I've taken to going on "Weird Walks" where I look for something strange or out of the ordinary to jostle me into paying attention - usually reminds me there's beauty to be found all around <3
What a gift, those 20 minutes of awe, watching indigo buntings dance.