Afternoon walks

When you’re out of work for months at a time and you don’t have an illness or disability that prevents you from getting out, something as simple as a afternoon walk can make the difference between plunging deeper into depression on a day when there seems not much promise of a future, or getting on with life by being out among people. Just seeing that life goes on as normal is sometimes all I needed to feel some sense of hope and optimism. I could pretend that I was not facing, day after the day, the very perilous void of having no immediate prospects for employment and supporting myself.

I was reminded of this the other day when I ventured out from work during a break to walk a familiar route of six or seven blocks in an old and quite beautiful neighborhood of Charleston in the Wraggborough area. It was a beautiful late afternoon, and I didn’t feel the coming winter a bit. The live oak trees, just like I remember in New Orleans on similar walks, were still holding on to the previous season’s leaves in preparation for shedding them in March and April, as they do every year. Shortly after that, the new growth starts its subtle leafing out. On the sidewalk were last year’s remaining live oak leaves, so distinctively small, crisp and hard, but so potent a reminder of New Orleans to me, a city that is filled with live oaks. They surrounded my house in suburban Algiers. They were everywhere.

So on this walk, I recalled similar walks I had taken from my brother’s house on Laurel Street, only a few blocks from the Mississippi River, up Valmont and over to Pitt Street, thence left across Jefferson Avenue and down Octavia Street. I had to look this route up on a map because it’s been twelve years since I’ve walked it, but it was a daily uptown New Orleans routine for me, week after week, and month after month.

Sometimes I’d ride my bike over to Loyola and Tulane universities and enjoy being on the campus, visiting the bookstores, etc., and this also gave me a temporary lift, although the busy and preoccupied students and faculty contrasted with how little I had to do, and with the amount of time I had to leisurely walk and bike and read and think. As if I were retired or something, and I was only 38 years old.

It was absolutely essential for me to get out like this every day, even if the weather was less than congenial, for to stay in the house and look at classified job ads and try to find some kind of part-time job was very depressing. Nothing seemed to be working out for me. All I knew was that sooner or later, I would probably go back to South Carolina.

On those walks, as I headed toward St. Charles Avenue, I made a special effort to notice as many things as I could about my surroundings. In certain states of mind you tend to look at things differently. You don’t take as much for granted. Ordinary objects and things you’ve seen a hundred times before have new meaning and depth, simply because you are aware of them, really aware, and your surroundings have something to say to you as you pass by. But you can’t say anything back. You are an observer. No one notices you. Your walk continues. It’s like you were on a movie set watching the scenes being filmed, take after take, the same action, but a slightly different outcome.

I almost dreaded coming home sometimes because those walks were highlights of the day, focal points. I returned to an empty house, but I liked to time it so that it was near supper time and I could go about that comforting ritual of fixing something to eat, maybe turning on the TV for the first time that day.

The end of the day in those dismal times was a great relief. I could relax most completely then, for I could temporarily forget about the effort it took to feel that I was still a part of this throbbing world of busy, engaged people, and just curl up with a jbook, take a nap and watch the night descend, the crickets begin their song, and the neighborhood became a softer, easier place to be in the darkness and quiet of evening. Sanctuary — until I awoke at sunrise with the same mockingbird singing his song, and it once again dawned on me.

When you are out of…. Indeed, a “simple” walk can make the difference, and it still surprises me how differently we look at things then, and how they get new meenings. To me it seemed as if I was landed here from an other planet, in a world I didn’t belong to. You tell this in such a genuine way, profound thoughts, deeply felt in your heart. Still, I think it gave us wisdom, it helped us g

It helped us grow to the persons we became. That’s why so many among us are able to enjoy the little simple things of life so very much. I read this entry two times and I think I’ll print it now. Thank you.

Ah, yes! My walks have been my sanctuary for years 🙂 And I always loved coming home to an empty house. 🙂 It’s all perspective – too much, too little. Who knows? Very nice, Oswego.

Smetimes you just have to wait and listen and have faith that the mockingbird will sing again. It sounds like you havethis faith.

Bramble

November 17, 2001

There is nothing like a walk, it always boosts the spirits.

RYN: thank you …i am glad you liked the pictures…you actually gave me the needed inspiration to take some this year 🙂 on another note..i think you should take a camera with you on your walks…mmmm..but then again…you do take the most beautiful pictures with your words…so i guess you already have one with you 🙂

you give me great relief in that, no matter how you feel about the future, it goes on. this makes me feel better about the whole possibility still of being unemployed and unemployable in my field due to the economy.

Hm.. you did the best to cope with the situation. You just sounded so terrible alone..

What a lovely entry. I’d love to live this way awhile, if I knew employment was in my not-so-distant future and if I had a little $$ to tide me over. It’s only the worry re getting a job again that cast a shadow on this time in your life. I’m sure you’d otherwise have totally enjoyed the time for thought and contemplation! :O)

I love looking at the world through your point of view, Oswego. It is sometimes in the memories and also the new visions of an unassuming day that someone sees a spectacular new sight! Most beautiful, my friend!!

Much wisdom is contained in this entry, Oswego. How much of my clinical depression can be directly attributed to the fact I moved from 15 acres in TN to a one bedroom apartment in Denver? Your words ring true – I miss the country.

This really makes me sad, this entry. (I’m so tired of interviewing. I’m so ready to hang up my sensible suit.)

Walking is a wonderful time for reflectiion. I enjoyed this one with you…

The tone here reminds me of Frost poem…my daughter was single into her late thirties and I think she could have written this, a shy woman, didn’t date much, and too often alone…she ran and it lifted her spirits enormously. Like you, with me, it’s walking, observing, the tiny things sometimes are thrilling…a wild flowering weed, for example with intense color. How I need the natural world!

Your comment about employment fears troubles me–hoping it won’t come to that for you, dear friend. ryn: perhaps it is a good time to mingle more given that allows you to do what can be called “networking” if the worst arrives, and given that it can lift one’s spirits, too. Hard times: we can’t decide if we are fortunate to be leaving the workforce or foolhearty…will our retirement plans work?

I’ve just found a silver dollar in the dust. If you don’t mind, I’ll roll it around in my pocket awhile before I return it, with thanks.

Good & beautiful entry. I love walking — it is the one physical action that I love above all else — I love the feel of the earth on my feet — I love the changing weather — the people you see – the animals — the thoughts that come with long walks — there is nothing like a walk for healing & health & happiness.

Thank you for writing this Oswego. I find it comforting today.

It seems that when you’ve taken these walks you always have someone with you, us.

Edelweis

November 23, 2002

I re-read this entry and was looking at your words for quite some time here…pondering…moved…I can feel a profound sadness but at the same time there is this special strenght that kept you going. Live oak trees? I never saw one in real, but at pictures they seem to be guardians, shelters…with their branches reaching out to the sky they are symbols of hope! Enjoy your evening, :o)