Category: Walking

Categories
Creativity Serendipity Walking

Demons Hate Fresh Air

Walking in the Woods

The notion keeps circling back.

Austin Kleon gave it a clean, memorable shape in Keep Going. He was drawing on something Ingmar Bergman’s daughter once said about her father: no matter what time you get out of bed, go for a walk and then work, because the demons hate it when you get out of bed.

Demons hate fresh air.

There’s a Peanuts strip of Linus out walking that Kleon paired with the line years ago. The image and the words stuck with me. I wrote a short post about it myself more than a year ago, on a clear May morning when the air felt especially clean.

The idea still feels true.

What I’ve been turning over lately is why.

Steven Johnson offers one way into the question in Where Good Ideas Come From. He writes about the many stories of good ideas arriving while people are out walking. The point is not that walking magically manufactures ideas. It is that something happens when we stop trying quite so hard to produce them.

A good idea rarely comes from nowhere. More often, it is an unexpected connection between things that were already somewhere in the mind. A problem, a memory, a half-formed thought, something we read three days ago and forgot we remembered. At the desk, we tend to keep pushing the same thought around the same small circle.

Walking changes the conditions.

The body is occupied, but not very much. Attention loosens. The mind wanders without being completely idle. Things that had been sitting in separate corners begin, occasionally, to find each other.

Darwin had his Sandwalk at Down House, a path he paced almost every day. Poincaré described important insights arriving while he was out walking after periods of intense, fruitless work at his desk. The examples go on.

Apparently, smart people have been wandering around for a very long time.

I notice it on ordinary mornings.

The first part of a walk is usually just clearing the residual static—the night’s dreams, yesterday’s unfinished business, the little collection of thoughts that somehow followed me into the morning. Then, without any particular effort, something loosens.

A sentence that wouldn’t come the night before appears.

A problem that felt stuck suddenly has an edge.

A connection between two things I had never thought to connect quietly presents itself.

None of it feels like work. That may be the important part.

Sometimes the way to think better is to stop trying so hard to think.

The demons prefer the closed room. They thrive on the spinning, the second-guessing, the feeling that the only way forward is more concentrated effort at the same desk.

Fresh air and steady movement are quietly hostile to that atmosphere.

They don’t defeat the demons through force. They simply change the conditions so the demons have less purchase.

And perhaps that’s why the old advice has survived. Get out of bed. Go for a walk. Then get to work.

Not because the walk makes you more productive.

Because sometimes you have to leave the room before you can see the way forward.

Get up. Get out.

The demons can wait.

Categories
Living Walking

The Heron at Sharon Park

The heron did not fly.

Herons stand in water every morning of the world. Most don’t fly when a man walks past on a gravel path. But this one was close — close enough to see the yellow ring around its eye like a struck coin, the black cap combed back into two sharp feathers, a heron dressed for church. It considered me, or the water, or nothing at all, holding a stillness that costs a heron nothing and would cost me everything.

Sharon Park keeps a rotating cast of herons the way other places keep pigeons — gray, ill-tempered looking, small monks set down among the ducks. Usually they see me first and go up off the water in that ungainly unfolding, all elbows, and I’m left with the consolation of having glimpsed something before it left. This one let me stay. Let me get close enough to think the word friendly, though I know better — what I was seeing was a fish, or the absence of one, some interior calculus that had nothing to do with me. I was not a guest. I was weather.

It stood on one leg in green water, a green wall of reflected trees behind it, the low light turning that whole ceiling of water the color of a bottle. Its double stood beneath it, upside down, exact, patient as the original. Two herons for the price of one — one of feather, one of light, and I couldn’t have told you which was more real. The one in the water bent its neck into a shape the standing bird hadn’t made yet. It knew something the standing bird didn’t know, or had already forgotten.

Bubbles rose between them, a seam breaking the skin of the pond in a line, as though something down there were breathing, or as though the pond had decided, just this once, to show its work. Gas, probably, some decaying business at the bottom. But it looked like punctuation — the pond trying to say something and getting only as far as a string of commas before losing the thought.

I stood there longer than the moment required. This is what a heron does, if it lets you close and doesn’t leave: it makes you overstay. I thought about how little the bird was doing and how much I was doing to it — assigning it moods, welcoming it into my morning, when the truth was likely that it was simply waiting, the way I wait for coffee to cool, without company, without me. And yet it let me stay. Whatever arithmetic decided that, I was on the right side of it, for once, on an ordinary morning, my shoes going damp at the toe from standing too close to the edge.

Eventually I walked on, the way the heron surely expected I would, since staying is not a thing men do at ponds. I looked back once. It hadn’t moved. Its reflection hadn’t moved. The bubbles were still rising in their careful, aimless line — saying nothing, saying everything, the pond continuing to be a pond after I’d stopped watching it be one.

Categories
Creativity Living Walking

The Medicine of Momentum

Have you noticed that an anxiety tends to creep in whenever your surroundings get perfectly quiet?

For a long time, I told myself that peace was supposed to be like a quiet day at home. But often I find my center of gravity when everything around me is a blur—whether I’m staring out the window of a train, driving with the radio on, or just walking on a local park trail.

I was reading Pam Houston’s memoir Deep Creek recently, and she absolutely nailed this exact feeling:

“Motion improves any day for me—the farther the faster the better—on a plane, a boat, a dogsled, a car, the back of a horse, a bus, a pair of skis, in a cabbage wagon, hoofing it down a trail in my well-worn hiking boots. Stillness, on the other hand, makes me very nervous.”

I love how beautifully democratic her list is. It really doesn’t matter if it’s a jet plane or a literal cabbage wagon. The vehicle isn’t the point; the momentum is what heals us.

For me, motion acts as a physical counterweight to the heavy, looping thoughts in my head. When I’m moving and taking in a changing world around me, my mind gets permission to unclench. The scenery changes, the wind hits my face, and whatever I’m stressed about is forced to keep up or get left behind in the dust.

But it’s the second half of her quote that really gets me—the idea that stillness makes us nervous.

Why does just stopping feel so threatening? I think it’s because when we stop moving, the dust settles, and whatever we’ve been outrunning finally taps us on the shoulder. Stillness strips away my favorite distractions. It forces me to actually sit with my uncertainties and unanswerable questions. We live in a world that tells us stillness equals peace, so it can be hard to admit that the quiet actually makes me more anxious.

Maybe the goal isn’t to force ourselves into a static version of peace that just doesn’t fit. If motion makes a day better, I think we should just honor that. I run, drive, and walk not to escape myself, but to process my life at a speed that actually makes sense to my brain. There is a beautiful quietude to be found in the center of movement—a peace that shows up when I’m finally going fast enough.

““The demons hate it when you get out of bed. Demons hate fresh air.”” (Austin Kleon, Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad)

Categories
Aging Walking

Old Man Walking

My friend recently commented that I was taking such short, shuffling steps that I looked like an old man when I walked. While said partly in jest, his words held some truth that stung a bit. My usual brisk stride had slowed to a plodding pace somewhere along the line without me realizing it. Age was creeping up on me gradually, evidenced not just in my slowed gait but my increasingly aching joints and graying hair.

My friend advised me to take longer strides, saying it would make me appear more youthful. After considering his suggestion, I realized he had a point. Length of stride is often an indicator of age and vitality. Elderly people tend to take shorter, slower steps as their energy wanes and bodies become stooped. Younger people naturally move with longer, loping gaits.

Consciously extending my stride did make me feel and look more energetic. It required some concentrated effort at first to break my shuffling habit. But soon my old, longer stride felt natural again. The further reach of each step worked muscles that had become inactive and gave me more power and momentum. I found myself walking faster without even meaning to, no longer plodding along but moving with purpose. My renewed gait made me look more alert and engaged with life.

In addition to taking longer strides, I realized I should also make an effort to smile more when I’m out walking. I tend to wear a worried or intense expression, furrowing my brow without realizing it. But a smile can do wonders to make me appear more upbeat and approachable. Smiling more will not only help me look friendlier to others, but also lift my own mood and outlook.

In the end, I was grateful to my friend for his advice. His playful jab about my aging walk spurred me to reclaim the vigorous stride of my youth. While growing older is inevitable, small adjustments like this can help recapture the vitality we sometimes fear is lost with the passing years. Conscious changes in habits and posture can work wonders to make us feel younger, keeping that youthful spring in our step.

Here’s a little poem on the subject:

The Longer Stride

My steps had become short, My pace slow and tired,
But your words sparked in me A passion re-fired.

With just a small tweak To my gait’s length and style,
I now walk with the vigor Of youth for a while.

Each long stride propels My body ahead,
Renewing my energy That once seemed shed.

My muscles awaken, Joyful and spry,
As I take to the roads With new stride in my eye.

No more am I shackled By short shuffling feet.
I’m striding with purpose, My vitality replete.

So thank you, my friend, For advising me so.
With each lengthened stride, My youthful vigor grows.

Note: this post was inspired by a story told during an interview with McKay Coppins about his new book about Mitt Romney. Also, Claude helped me write this post.

Categories
Audio Books Living Menlo Park Walking

The Couple

On my morning walks around the pond, I often see a married couple taking their own constitutional. They walk in perfect sync, stepping in time as if trained in a military march. In their right hands—always the right—they clutch large mugs emitting wisps of steam. Their elbows press close to their sides, steadying the mugs as they promenade along.

Every so often, maybe every 100 yards or so, some invisible signal makes them halt in unison. They raise their mugs and take long sips, black coffee I envision, turning to each other to exchange a few private words before pivoting in tandem to continue their measured pace.

This morning, while watching the couple’s syncopated steps carry them farther from view, I listened to Meryl Streep narrate Ann Patchett’s new novel Tom Lake on my headphones. She read a passage set at a Traverse City cherry farm, describing a summer visit before the harvest. The lush depiction of endless orchards with lush green grass under the trees heavy with green fruit made a lovely soundtrack for my walk through the neighborhood.

It was a peaceful start to the day, with the air very still and heavy with humidity. High overcast clouds blanketed the sky in an unbroken slate grey. The solemn couple marching away added a faint visual rhythm to accompany the cadence of Streep’s voice recounting the verdant cherry trees. I found myself wishing I could capture the mood of this moment – the mingled sights and sounds that made it so uniquely serene.

Categories
Exercise Living Walking

Demons hate fresh air!…

While driving to the post office this morning to drop off a photography book that I sold, I was listening to the latest edition of Len Edgerly’s Kindle Chronicles and his discussion with his longtime friend Bryan Person.

At one point, Len mentioned how he uses Austin Kleon’s latest book Keep Going as a trigger for morning journaling – and how one chapter in particular, highlighted the benefits of just taking a walk and getting away from “our devices!”

From Austin’s blog:

Here’s Linn Ullmann, in an interview with Vogue, on her father Ingmar Bergman:

My father was a very disciplined and punctual man; it was a prerequisite for his creativity. There was a time for everything: for work, for talk, for solitude, for rest. No matter what time you get out of bed, go for a walk and then work, he’d say, because the demons hate it when you get out of bed, demons hate fresh air. So when I make up excuses not to work, I hear his voice in my head: Get up, get out, go to your work.

This notion, for me, is one of the things I enjoy about street photography. While it’s fun to take some pictures, chase the interesting light, find exciting “stages” and backgrounds and great people, a big component of my enjoyment is just getting out, walking, and enjoying the fresh air and the scene. My friend Doug Kaye and I have talked about on our walks – how great it is just to get out of the house, into the city, and getting some exercise – both physically and for our minds.

At the moment, I’m just back from a walk at our local neighborhood park. It’s a lovely warm (but not too warm) Saturday afternoon and there were several couples out walking as well, a group taking portraits with the pond/fountain in the background, a couple chatting seriously while sitting on one of the picnic tables, etc. I often take my AirPods along on these walks to listen to a podcast – but today I didn’t. I wanted to just be in the moment, alone with my thoughts, without any other audio stimulation. It was great! Twenty minutes yielded just over a mile of walking – and the fresh air certainly helped chase the demons away.

Categories
Exercise Health Living Walking

That Last Walk

Just over a year ago – as it ultimately turned out – I took my last walk with my very good friend Chris Gulker.

As last year’s post notes, Chris, Lily and I had been walking almost every Tuesday and Thursday morning for two years. Our walks together were such good fun. We solved all of our problems on these walks and came away invigorated. Very much kindred spirits, Chris and I had only met a year or so before we began our walks.

Chris Gulker

When I wrote last year’s post, I was traveling in India – having left for that trip just after having taken what turned out to be my last walk with Chris. I remember writing my thoughts then from far away – about how we’d had such good times together on these morning walks. About what an inspiration Chris was for me – learning new things, sharing our thoughts, just enjoying each others’ company. Thinking back now, also about how he had such patience with Lily, much more patience than I.

And, I especially remember very much not wanting to title that post The Last Walk. I hoped I’d be able to come home from my travels and do a few more walks with Chris. I’d hoped our walk had been just a milestone – two years walking. But, that wasn’t to be. It had been our last walk. When I got back home, we shared new times together as he bravely dealt with the harsh realities of life – but we didn’t walk together again.

Chris was a great teacher for me in so many ways. His zest for life, his infectious laugh and smile, his love for his family and friends – all stand out in my memories. Plus his great talent as a photographer and his love for learning. It doesn’t get any better.

I’m not exactly sure what it was that brought us together – for that first breakfast meeting – but it was something very special. I’ve come to appreciate this kind of special serendipity when it happens. And, to respect it.

Categories
Exercise Health Living Walking

Two Years Walking

Beginning on July 15, 2008, Chris Gulker and I (along with Lily, our Cavalier King Charles spaniel) began a regular walk routine every Tuesday and Thursday morning.

Most days, we walked a 1.5 mile loop around Chris’ neighborhood – chatting about all manor of things, events, life and just generally enjoying each other’s company. Lily always managed to keep us moving – tugging as she always does on her leash and helping to protect Chris and I from the big SUVs she’s convinced are barreling down on us.

We became great pals along the way – as we logged what I figure is over 250 miles of walking together. We finished our walks and conversation over coffee – just a great way to begin a morning!

This past Monday – marking our rough two year anniversary of these morning walks – Chris, Lily and I took another one of our walks around the neighborhood. But, our walk this particular mid-July morning was a short one – just around the block.

As Chris wrote over the weekend on his blog, there was the terrible news last week that several new tumors had appeared in his brain. The physical effects on his stamina had begun to weaken him – so we kept this walk short.

I’m now in Asia traveling on business – but I’m looking forward to getting home again soon for what I hope might be a few more short walks with Chris. He’s a great pal, helping me get some much needed exercise, teaching me a bunch about so many things – photography, cooking, technology, faith and more – but, most importantly, sharing his wonderful perspectives on life.

As he and Linda bravely confront this terrible disease, they are always in my thoughts and prayers.

Categories
Menlo Park Photography Walking

Wirelessly Shooting

Chris and I had fun on our morning walk this morning. Here’s a shot of him taking a picture down low of one of our favorite Menlo ponds! Click here to see the photo he took!

Chris Gulker - Menlo Park Sunrise

I do agree that Linda’s photo taken on the Stanford Golf Course is the best of the bunch!

Categories
Half Moon Bay HDR Photography Living Photography Photomatix Pro Walking

A Sunday Morning Walk in the Coastal Country

Over the last couple of years, I’ve subscribed to the RSS feeds of a number of local folks on Flickr who share some great photography. How I find them initially seems pure serendipity. Sometimes they post one or two photos in a local group – sometimes I just stumble upon their work. If they’re interesting, I add their Flickr RSS feed to my Flickr folder in Google Reader. Inevitably, their work helps me to learn more about photography and stimulates me to visit some new local locations – it’s very rewarding.

Continue reading “A Sunday Morning Walk in the Coastal Country”