The Wonder Walk

A guided audio walk, 18 minutes. Headphones on, step outside, and let your feet do the rest. Your guide will name a few things to notice, provide examples, and then be quiet so you can find your own. Just bring your own street, and you’re off and moving.

Transcript

Okay, So you're walking. That's it. That's already the whole thing. You decided to go outside today and now your feet are doing the rest. I want to tell you something before we start in case some part of you holds on to this fear. Most of us walk around with a voice that says we're behind. That we should have figured something out by now. That everyone else has a thing we're missing and it's too late for us to get it. If that voice is with you right now, I get it. I hear it every day, And I'm not going to argue with it. Because here's what I'd rather tell you instead. This whole thing, Your life, Today, This walk, It isn't a test you're passing or failing. It's an experiment. It's full of mystery. And you can't actually fail at it because life doesn't really have a score. To me, Life is course correction, Again and again. That's all it ever was. So, For the next while, We're not going to solve anything. We're not going to catch up. We're just going to do the smallest, Oldest thing there is. We're going to look. At what's actually here right now on this walk. Nobody has this all figured out. There's room for mystery. Let's go. All right, Your feet know what they're doing. Let's let your eyes catch up. I'm going to name a few things to look for, Not rules, Just places to put your attention. And then I'll stop talking and you look at whatever's actually there. Not what I describe, But what's yours. Sometimes I'll just be quiet. That's not a mistake. That's the best part. Now, First one. Look for something moving that fits perfectly where it is. On my walk, It was a river otter diving and bobbing along the bank. And the thing about an otter is it doesn't swim against the water. It doesn't struggle with it. It's just fluid. It embodies the water it lives in. It belongs there. So find your version, Something alive, Moving, A bird, A dog, A person, The wind in a hedge. And then watch it for a moment. Watch how it doesn't argue with where it is. Now, Next one. Look up or out. Find something that's only a shape, A silhouette, Backlit. Mine was boats in the harbor, All of them dark against a sky turning bright orange. You couldn't see much detail, Just the shapes. And with the loss of detail comes an interesting new perspective. Now find yours against the sky, Against a window, Against a wall. Let it be just a shape for a while. Don't name it yet. Next one. Now let your eyes drop. Look for the small human things. The ones nobody realized you'd notice. For me, On Harvey Street, There were two lamps shining softly on sleepy little wicker tables tucked into a casual porch. Nobody was sitting there, But somebody had put them there to welcome someone home. Now find your version, A porch, A mailbox, Somebody's shoes on a step, A light left on. Somebody made that. Somebody at some point cared about that spot. You don't know them, But you just got a glimpse. Last one, And it's the best one. Find something that was here before you and will be here after. Something big and old, A tree, A stone, A hill, The water itself. On my walk, It was the knotty trunk of an ancient tree rooted in its spot, Anchoring the sidewalk to the street. It's been holding that corner down for longer than anyone living remembers. And it just keeps doing that. It'll still be standing long after I'm gone. Once you find your thing, Go stand near it for a second. Really look. Nothing is trying, Not the tree, Not the water, Not the otter, Not the lamps. Nothing out here is trying to be anything other than what it is. And nothing out here is failing at that. Remember that. Store it away in case that voice comes back later. Nothing out here is failing. Neither are you. Okay, That's four. You probably noticed 20 other things that I never mentioned. A smell, A sound, Somebody's laugh. Those count too. Those count a lot. Keep walking for a bit, Keep looking, Or turn around now and head back, Whatever feels right to you. When you're ready, We'll close this out. And if you're not ready, Just hit pause. Before we finish, I want to ask you the two questions I ask the people I love the most. What do you love? What do you care about? Don't worry about your answer, Just let it be a clue. Not a plan, Not a goal, A clue. Because the thing you keep coming back to, The thing your attention keeps drifting toward when nobody's asking anything of you, That's not a distraction from your life. That's your life pointing at itself. I'll go first since it's only fair. I love old paperback books, The guilelessness of a lonely person, A cool breeze on a hot day, Moonlight, Building a fire. A seedy little bar in my old college town called Fat Man's Squeeze. And the way the baby geese swim in a line behind their mother like bows on a kite string. See, None of that is a goal. It's just what my attention keeps drifting towards. It's more like a map than a plan. Now you. What do you love? What do you care about? You noticed a lot on this walk, More than you'll remember, And that's okay. You don't have to hold on to any of it to have done it. The noticing stays with you. It sinks in like a good soap. It'll be there at the coffee pot tomorrow, Behind the steering wheel, And whenever you take another walk. You can't lose it by not using it. You didn't fail at anything out here. There were no points to earn. There was never anything to pass. Come settle down and wonder with me. Thank you for walking.