Walk

I miss walking. That's the one activity I consistently do in New York. It's what I did in Prague. In Miami, though, there is no walking. When travel becomes a necessity, a car fulfills it. Even when I take my dog out, I get little out of it other than an escape from the house. I may as well have a teleportation device because whenever I move from place to place, the trip is meaningless.

Adventure is lacking in this world where "pedestrian" is missing from the lexicon.

It's true that there's a good reason for not walking very much in Miami: the heat. Step outside to pick up the mail - a quick, twenty second journey - and it feels like a hand presses down on, raising the temperature all around. Some weeks ago, my friends and I walked to a Subway for lunch and we spent the entire time wishing we had driven instead. Air-conditioning is a wonderful invention.

But not every place has the same weather patterns as this southern city. Though I haven't lived through a New York summer, which I hear is quite hot, the time I do spend there is conducive to walking. Sure, maybe not so much the winter but the fact that I still have to go out by foot when snow falls makes me feel stronger. It makes me feel like I'm embarking on a journey. Getting caught in rain, taking careful steps over frozen sidewalks, and enduring a frozen face just to get dinner make me feel alive. It makes every moment precious because it has a faint touch of danger, of discomfort, so that when you finally arrive in a warm room or can smell the odors of Cosi, you can say, "Ah, this is so worth it!"

One night in New York I walked toward the East River. The air was wet with rain and some drops may have fallen. Along the way, I discovered streets I'd never seen before. Though my feet never stopped, I was able to take in the surroundings better than if I had driven by. I saw rats by a factory, stopped to see if they'd keep coming out, and then went on my way. The riverside was beautiful as a faint blanket of rain covered Brooklyn and Queens. The river itself was gently buffeted by the wind.

One day in Prague I took a tram and metro ride to a park in a large residential area. Apartments towered in every direction. Walking over the grass, seeing dozens of people enjoying a day out with their children or with friends was inspiring. Climbing up a hill where some kids were dirt-biking on regular bikes was fun. The rides I took to get to that location didn't feel like vehicles; they felt like I was just walking very fast. That's because the transitions between walking and riding were very smooth.

Those two experiences occurred because of a desire to explore. You can't explore so well in a car. Sure, road trips make up for it but for that a long trip is needed. Within New York City itself, though, you can travel relatively short distances that end up meaning more than a ten mile trip by car. When you finally get somewhere, it has meaning because there was an obvious physical movement to get there. A car just drops you off.

Little is there to top walking with someone. The time spent ambulating let's mouths speak freely. There's no fear of ending a conversation because the destination was reached. Somehow, the timing is just right. You pay more attention to each other. It all feels more natural you're part of the world, as opposed to being inside an enclosed space. That's why driving with the windows down is so much more fun; that's a chance for the outside world to get inside.

I want to walk more. I don't want to have fun by getting in a car, traveling to a house, and just sitting there. Movement is what's important. Blood pumping through legs, lungs being put to their proper use, hearts beating fervently. And it's not hard.

All you have to do is pick a direction and go.