Walking

Missteps and bungling are costing me much, including peace of mind.  Things piling up make me want to lie down.  Throw in resentments and malice. Then the anxiety begins, at which point is becomes impossible to do anything.  The jitters and the jags.

You can get a prescription for that, I think.

What is best, though, is the long, long walk.  There is not so much that walking cannot cure.  I've come to many reasonable plans and put many unreasonable anxieties to rest by walking.  Eventually you come to a place where things begin to make sense. There is a steadiness to walking, a rhythm that develops in the breathing and the stride.  And that is what you need, body, mind, and soul.  Rhythm.

I haven't time for walking today, and for that, I will suffer horribly.  This nervousness will not subside on its own.  And a trip to the gym is definitely no substitute.  In walking there is meditation.  In walking there is thought.  It is restorative. The mind will drift away from what you think you need to work out, but be not fooled.  Ask Freud.

Freud never spoke of walking as far as I know, but I am not as familiar with Freud as I sometimes pretend to be.  Thoreau, on the other hands, speaks to it often and speaks of it directly.  I love his essay by that name.  "Walking" by Henry David Thoreau.

"I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks--who had a genius, so to speak, for SAUNTERING, which word is beautifully derived "from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre," to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a Sainte-Terrer," a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the first, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.

It is true, we are but faint-hearted crusaders, even the walkers, nowadays, who undertake no persevering, never-ending enterprises. Our expeditions are but tours, and come round again at evening to the old hearth-side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our steps. We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return-- prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again--if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man--then you are ready for a walk."