Learning to Walk
Throughout the ongoing Coronavirus pandemic, I’ve found moments of joy outside, simply wandering around my neighborhood. Previously, I walked with intention, with steadfast movements keeping me on track to reach a particular destination: to buy a morning coffee or to pick up some groceries. Now, with the gifts of boredom and time, I walk for the sake of walking. I turn down roads I’ve never walked down before, and stop to smell unfamiliar plants that enjoy the sun as much as I do. Taking these walks almost daily, I’ve become more familiar with my neighborhood than I had ever been before.
Just down the street, only two right turns away, stands a two-story house painted bright purple with pink trim. Its vintage windows and chipped rooftop make it seem much older than its neighboring homes, but a perimeter of fresh, red rose bushes bring the old house to the present day. I like to think that this house belongs to a princess: a girl who decided in early childhood that she wouldn’t settle for anything less than royalty. She was destined to live in the biggest, prettiest house in town. With precisely shaded colored pencils, she crafted the home from her daydreams and built it just blocks away from where I live today. I imagine the hot pink trim is the same color as her independent, courageous heart.
Nearby, there are homes with white fence perimeters and artificial grass, too green to be true. Inside, steady families sit down for well prepped meals at the same hour every evening, served on sparkling, porcelain dishes. Maybe. Or maybe the fake grass is the only constant in their lives. On the same street, wild, unkempt yards flourish with hummingbirds, moths, and other flying creatures I couldn't name. California poppies ignore boundaries and spill over property lines to block sidewalks. I hope that whoever lives in these homes, with unintentionally beautiful, chaotic yards, are true neighbors and friends to the folks with pristine, geometric landscapes. Perhaps the differences in garden design are just that, and when these neighbors cross paths, they smile, wave, and see each other for more than the square plot in front of their home.
I’ve also discovered half a dozen nearby driveways where tired, carefree cats can be found sunbathing on warm days. I’ve seen the slow transition from spirited springtime decor around neighborhood homes, to Independence Day red, white, and blue. I’ve noticed fences, trees, and uneven sections of the sidewalk that I never cared to think about before. I’ve even found a new post box that I gladly use today to drop off outgoing mail.
I learned to walk before my memories begin, but just a few months ago, I learned to walk without intention. I learned to wander and to be present in my steps. I learned to stop and smell roses, and to rub rosemary stems between my fingers when I’m lucky enough to cross the fragrant bush. Months ago, I walked by houses without even noticing their color. Now, I walk by my neighbors’ homes and am pleased with the realization that they aren’t just structures at all, but places where people and families spend their precious days. People with consciousness, complexity, and dreams. People far different, but undoubtedly similar to me. I hope they are learning to walk too.
