There are two kinds of walks. The first is purposeful. One gets out of bed and says, "I'm going for a walk!" This proclamation is followed by the planning of a route. The more obsessive might pull out a map and, perhaps, write out an itinerary. Some might even program a GPS device. This kind of walk is more work than walk but it does have its proponents. And it does have its advantages.
The second kind of walk is aimless. It is organic. It often accompanies some kind of trauma or stress. It is akin to wandering after a blow to the head. Even so, I much prefer it to the first type of walk. It is a walk that affirms freedom and reconnects us to spirit and earth. It is more wandering than walking. It has less to do with getting somewhere and more to do with coming home.
With head lighter than helium, I put my sneakers on my feet. Life had dealt me a transition. The four walls of life were closing in and I needed to get out and see what might be there. I tied a double knot in my shoelace, remembering how I struggled with the double-knot concept as a small boy. I've lost some hair since then so I put on my hat to protect my head. I walked outside—head still lighter than helium.
Paul Simon once wrote a song called, Think Too Much. If there were a song that could be my anthem, that would be it. A problem will swim around in my head until I start to drown. Being cerebral is not a virtue. Sometimes I just need to get out and move. Maybe I think too much.
Like a ghost I floated around my haunts. Somehow I found the Larkspur Palms. I wandered among them, looking up. A woman came out of her bungalow and said hello. "How are you?" she asked. She seemed nice but I wondered why she asked. I wondered if knew about the second kind of walking. Did she know that I was wandering—lost but not lost?
The Larkspur Palms remind me of being a small boy and looking up at adults. They used to be way up there. Adults used to tower above me. They had all the answers. They held my hand. Now they are gone so I look up to the palms instead and see if they hold any truths. On this day they are more lovely than wise and hold no answers. So I made a few photos and wandered onward, smiling at the nice lady as I passed by her bungalow.
My father came to me
And held me to his chest
He said there's not much more that you can do
Go on and get some rest
And I said yeah
Maybe I think too much
– Paul Simon