For the last few months, mornings have taken on a different significance for me. My need to find calm has led me to the outdoors. Instead of quickening my pace for a run, I’ve slowed down my cadence to walking. My feet take a more purposeful stride and I look up and notice the light-blue hue of the sky and the assorted hot air balloons sprinkled across the horizon. The air has a variety of smells. Passing by one house, a family is cooking breakfast and I recognize the aroma of curry. At another, I know a mother or father is loading laundry, the wisps of floral detergent spilling around their house. All of these smells are couched under the umbrella of the desert air, where in the morning I can sometimes taste the grittiness of the sand.
There are sounds and sights that accompany my walk. The rabbits scurry alongside my path, darting in no particular identifiable direction. A few cars zoom fast, but my ears gravitate toward the chirping birds. A tree near my path houses an owl and her babies; branches provide a place where this mother can cradle her babies so they can eventually take flight. A few flower petals on the bougainvillea shimmer pink. I want to touch them, but pull back, not wanting to disturb the perfect dewdrops that rest on the petals.
My tempo moves to a brisk walk, but my breathing finds a rhythm that is comfortable and relaxing. My mind senses a comfort that I do not ordinarily encounter when I am trying to meditate at home or even during my runs. This practice of walking is soothing, like a soft lullaby putting a baby to sleep. As I continue to walk, pieces of my past make their debut.
One particular memory startles me. I think of my father and his marriage to his walks. Every evening after dinner, his ritual consisted of taking a long walk around the neighborhood. Sometimes my mom accompanied him, while other times he chose to walk on his own. As a little girl, I recognized my father’s dedication and commitment to these evening strolls. I sensed their purpose involved more than just exercise because he only missed them when he wasn’t feeling well or some other pressing issue required his attention. For over 20 years, the evening walk became a fixture of my father’s life. Even when he faced a Stage III B cancer diagnosis, he walked. That’s when I realized the meditative aspect of this ritual that my father cultivated.
My own need to walk began as a way to explore a different way to meditate, but I realize the unexpected surprise in these strolls. They allow me to extend back to my past and think of my father and his fondness for the same ritual. In the last few years, so much of my mind has focused on his days in hospice, how his disease progressed so much he could not muster enough breath to climb out of his hospital bed. Walking was not an option for him. Thinking how much he struggled in his final days provides a direct contrast to how my feet touch the pavement with very little effort. I am not walking only for myself, but am connecting with my father in a way that was wholly unexpected.
Rounding the corner, I see my home. With a deep breath, I walk up the driveway and glance at the cactus in front of our yard. I tilt my gaze upward. Looking up, I smile. Thank you, Dad, I whisper. I now understand the significance of my morning strolls.
This post originally appeared on First Day Press.
This is lovely, Rudri. Once upon a time, I walked early mornings – for years, actually. Then came kids, and everything was scrambled. I picked up the walking again of course, but have never been able to find the same rhythm that was once so natural.
I’m happy to read about yours. It is a gift and a means to connect outside of ourselves.
We live set apart from the neighborhood, but it’s a busy road. We do have four acres of woods and I could take a morning walk through them and wind up at a llama farm. It’s not quite what you’re describing, which is something I’d like to experience – passing families – but it is something special.
Tamara,
I think every walk can bring a host of memories, peace and comfort. The scenery is just a bonus.
I love the beauty of the language of this post, It breathes life and love. I’m so happy you’ve found the connection to your father and the meditative value of walking as well. I hope I never underestimate the power of a simple neighborhood stroll.
Thanks, Susan. Yes, I am so glad to make this discovery. It helps me process my grief.
I appreciate your comment on my writing. It means so much.
Beautiful post! I love being outside with nature, it’s wonderful for the mind and soul.
I’m sorry for your loss, I too lost my Dad to Cancer (one of the reasons I began blogging).
Have a beautiful weekend 🙂
I am sorry for your loss. Harnessing my grief into something positive has posed a challenge. I find that the walk definitely channels some lovely memories of my father.
Lovely writing and sentiments about your father. It is wonderful to connect to nature and your Dad with such a wonderful, invigorating ritual every morning!
Welcome Olivia!
Thanks. This is a ritual I’ve discovered recently and I love the nostalgic treasures it has brought me. I appreciate your complimentary words.
Yes. Once you “find” the time to walk, you can’t imagine losing that time. That peacefulness – without ear buds – let’s your mind work things out & come full circle. Rarely is there an opportunity for our minds to have that luxury of peace… A walk is a gift to ourselves.
Well said, Linda. I agree. There is a calm that comes with walking that I’ve not experienced elsewhere. It is a definite gift to do so – moving our arms and legs, breathing in the air, and watching the world unfold around us.
I love to walk in the early morning. I listen to the birds and all the life around me. I love this post and the sentiments you express about your father.
Thanks, Ayala. Walking outside reminds me of life – something I sink into more after losing my father. I know you completely understand this sentiment. xoxo
What a beautiful tribute to your dad…and the simple things in life.