Monday, I picked the dog up from my
in-laws, snapped on her bright pink harness, and took her on a 2 mile walk in
the neighborhood. We went down Lake Shore Drive North to Byrn Rd by the dam. We
looped our way over to Edward’s Beach where I deposited the bag of poop in the
trash can, then returned to Edwards Rd and walked up to Elm. All the way up
Elm, across on Plain, and back down Williams, the dog panted, looking back
accusingly at me for getting her into this fix. It was a hot day. Halfway
through the walk I had to agree with her displeasure, but the only thing to do
was to walk toward home. We made it back down Byrn, past the dam, and through
the back gate. Lila went straight to the cellar in search of some cool. I
grabbed a glass of water and settled down to work.
It’s
Wednesday night, and that Monday walk was the last I took this week. Yesterday,
there was no time and today I opted to stay home and work rather than walk.
Well, I can’t say that I’ve walked or worked. I have checked email, read a few
chapters in the novel I’m reading, looked up some Human Resources information
on the university website (does that count as work?), picked up Anya from the
nurse’s office, and welcomed Thea home from school. Now, my notebook is open
beside me, my glass is filled with an iced mocha, and I am set to finish
writing my syllabus. Yet, I’m just wishing that I had gone for a walk.
Walking
started out as a way for me to get to know my town better. Then, I began to
feel the health benefits and challenged myself to walk at least a little bit
every day. Walking is my time to decompress after run-ins with pre-teen
stubbornness, to reflect on a difficult conversation with my sister, to make a
plan to teach the pitfalls of the passive voice to college freshmen. When I
don’t walk, I feel as if I’ve let everyone down. I haven’t just missed my
cardio-vascular workout for the day, I’ve missed an opportunity to make myself
better. Sounds dramatic, I know. But if you are a walker or runner, if you do yoga
or spin classes, if you meditate or pray, you know that when you skip these
rituals, you are less.
Walking is
a choice, but not-walking is happenstance, that’s what I used to tell myself. I
would have walked today, but there
was a ton of laundry, I needed to bring my Mom on errands, I had phone calls
and emails to return, life got in the way. I’m a mom (wife, teacher, daughter,
sister, friend, volunteer, writer, etc). I can rattle off dozens of reasons to
put something off, just ask. But, I remind myself that my day is my choice. How
I spend it, the order and priority put to the various activities, what gets
checked off the to-do list and what get copied on to tomorrow’s, those are all
my choices. Sometimes, I choose not to walk. On those days, I’m OK with my
decision. But sometimes, I just don’t walk. I ride waves of panic about
deadlines and responsibilities instead. I get into trouble when I forget that
it is always my choice. Because, when I blame soccer practice or suppertime or
a call from a friend, and reject my choice-making role, I walk past fatalism
and into depression.
So, I have
not walked for two days. I have chosen to engage in different activities. No
one denied me my choice. Tomorrow, I plan to walk, but I also plan to be aware
of every moment and circumstances might change my mind. I’m open to the change.
I’m open to the gift of choice.
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