My days of fast walking are in my rear-view mirror. There wasn’t a pivotal or decisive moment or milestone or date on the calendar when the pace changed, when I went from a fast clip trotter to a slow sauntering slug. Because it wasn’t like that. These very subtle body capability challenges never are. It’s not until you’re walking with someone either younger or fitter that you have the show-stopping epiphany. These legs and these lungs just don’t perform the way they used to. WTF.
But if truth be told, I’m okay with it. In fact, while I was out walking my dog Simon this morning, I realized that I have fully embraced my ambulatory torpidness. It has taught me so much about stopping to smell the roses. Among other fragrant things.
As my pace has slowed so has my appreciation of the world around me. Or at least the sidewalk and all the sentient beings who share it with me and Simon. (Not sure if that’s grammatically correct. I never know if it’s me or I. Or I before E except after C. You and me and a dog named Boo. That can’t be right. I’m Boo. My dog is Simon. My apologies dear friends, I’m prone to digression especially since my pace has slowed. I lie. I’ve always digressed. Is that a digression of a digression of a digression? Good God, do we even remember what this story is about?)
Oh yeah, I was rambling about ambling. And how dawdling and meandering has brought new meaning and wonder to my morning walks. I’m learning to enjoy the journey. As tired as that cliché is – and you know what they say about clichés, they hold deep truths – the truth is I am loving these early morning daily wanders through our neighborhood. I always have, but even more so as I grow older, as my joints complain more vociferously and my lungs beg for mercy as we ascend yet another Rockheights hill. Yes, even with all that, I carry on. I keep on keeping on. Not because I have to but because I want to and love to.
Through these unhurried gentle ambles along the sidewalks and paths of our neighborhood, I have experienced life through new eyes. My child-eyes that see the world in a way that only I can. And the good news, your child-eyes hold the same magic, my beautiful friends.
Like the tenacity of Snow Drops in January. The determination of the grass to grow through the cracks in the sidewalk. The careless nature of windswept Garry Oak branches strewn across our path. The early morning chitter-chatter of the birds and silly tittle-tattle of the squirrels. The man in the moon watching and waiting for the sun to rise to take his place. The humble earth worm forging a trail across the cement in search of the sanctuary of wet soil. The curious fog hovering above the ground casting mystical shadows that dance. The divine and devilishly sweet dogs and their dedicated humans who greet us so pleasantly along the way.
All that, and more, my friends during an ordinary extraordinary walk in the middle of January.
