Massachusetts, 37°F

I'm into taking walks now

Chilly mid-day walks have been an unexpected part of my writing process lately. I typically go to the gym to move my body and am there pretty consistently 4-5 times a week. But when it’s a rest day or when it feels like I’m dragging myself to Planet Fitness, I’ve been taking long walks. I’m wrapped up in my long puffer coat, which along with warmth, gives me a feeling of being near invisible, my body concealed in thick layers of down feathers. Sometimes, I love that feeling. Sometimes, I need to feel that way. Then it’s just one foot in front of the other, deep breaths of cold air that purify my lungs. I used to hate walks unless I was with another person. I found it boring and monotonous when in my neighborhood or even through the downtown area I’m so close to. The thought of walking in the cold without music or a podcast filled me with a dread so intense, I decided I needed to challenge it. Why was this feeling so strong?

But I was wrong. During that quiet, brisk walk, I was not bored, or annoyed. It did not feel monotonous but invigorating, a renewed appreciation for the beautiful place I live in, and how close I am to the water. The loop I take is through a few neighborhoods until I can cross a main road and head towards a walking path, passing a large open field along the way. I love looking across land that hasn’t been built upon. It’s growing rarer and rarer around here. By the time I’m on the walking path, I can see the ocean, and even though I grew up here, seeing the ocean gets me every damn time. Something changes within my bodily chemicals, I’m sure of it. I’m instantly relaxed, instantly grateful.  

Sometimes on these walks, I think intentionally about my work. The other day I decided I was going to daydream about Jack, one of the characters in my novel who I’m still working to understand. Sometimes I play scenes in my head as if a movie or the entire book like it’s a movie trailer. ( I typically do this when driving with music on and I swear every major break though in this novel has come from these car rides.) Sometimes I try to think in my main character’s voice, narrating what happening around me with her inflections and idiosyncrasies. Sometimes I don’t know what I spent my time thinking about; family stuff, my never ending to-do list for managing a magazine, all my short stories and essays in various states of draft on my laptop that I want to finish, who knows. My mind wonders, but it feels good. I’m back home with a red nose, smelling like sea winds, and typically with a much calmer brain.

Before my walk the other day, my husband had watched a YouTube video about AI and what job markets they are set to take over. He is in the middle of learning how to code, to be a front web developer. He is learning before and after his full-time job. And it’s tough, man. It’s a lot of work.  The video explained how the future job he is working so hard to attain might be obsolete soon. He was immediately filled with frustration and worry and I could see him trying to comprehend all the hours of studying and learning he has been doing for months as if it was suddenly all worthless—all that time and energy. He shouldn’t have watched the damn video, honestly. But I’m the optimist in the relationship so I said, “No way. Robots can’t take over everything.”

And while you might think I’m naïve, I’m rolling with it. I’m not adding that to my list of anxieties. I’ve seen the articles of writers discussing the topic, how robots can write a story but come on. It will never be like that of a human. It will never be good! Or original! I’m just not going to go there. And while the world feels like it’s crashing and burning around us, the list of problems growing ever longer, I’m also not going to think about if my novel, if the story I’m so desperate to tell, will matter. Because there are a million reasons why I could think that it doesn’t.

I’m sure you’ve felt that way after watching the news or reading an article. How can I keep writing my silly little story when this is happening? Or, for my husband, how can he keep learning when robots will take over anyway?

If my chilly winter walks have taught me anything, it’s that joy exists in little pockets throughout the day, and throughout life, and I need to validate them. So no, I’m not going to think of robots. I’m going to think about how much joy I get when I sit at my desk each morning and take my first sip of coffee. The best sip!

Or how lately, the writing is going so well. The novel, if feels like a novel today! My main character, look at her go!

Or how I just figured out that my body can not digest high sugar fruit and that the reason I’ve been having chronic stomach issues of late is because of the BANANA I was eating every morning. No more bananas, no more stomach aches! (If you suffer from stomach issues, you know the sweet, sweet relief when you finally feel good, how it almost feels like a high. I’m chasing that feeling and never touching that stupid yellow peeled fruit again.)

Or I’m just going to be thankful I can write at all. That I have this gift and this drive to make something out of nothing. That despite the shit storm, I live in a world of ART.

So yeah, the writing has been going well. And I wanted a record I could look back on to remind me of this on the days the writing inevitably feels sticky and cumbersome. (Could be tomorrow!)

Oh, and fuck AI. Seriously, fuck all that shit.