Sometimes, the simplest act of moving forward helps us find our way back to ourselves.
I never thought of walking as anything special.
As a child, it was simply part of life, walking barefoot in the garden, taking shortcuts through quiet lanes, racing friends up the hill before dusk. There was no goal, no tracking, no thought behind it. Just the simple joy of moving through the day.
Somewhere between growing up and growing busy, I lost that rhythm. Days became lists, and walking turned into something functional, a way to get from one task to another. Life began to move faster, and I somehow fell behind my own pace.
One evening, after a long week that had left me drained, I stepped outside without a plan. The street was still. The air smelled faintly of rain. I began walking, slowly at first, then more freely. With every step, the tightness in my chest began to ease. I hadn't gone far, but when I came home, I felt lighter, calmer, more present.
That's how it began, my quiet return to walking.
Now, I walk when my thoughts are too loud. I walk when I feel restless, when I can't find words, when the world feels too sharp. Somehow, the steady rhythm of footsteps soothes the noise inside.
Along the way, I notice things again, a child wobbling on a bicycle, a street vendor arranging marigolds, an old couple walking in silence, the smell of dust after rain. These small, passing moments remind me that life isn't happening around me; it's happening with me.
There's no destination when I walk now. No rush. No reason to check the time. Just breath and ground and the quiet company of my own thoughts. Sometimes ten minutes is enough. Sometimes I keep going until my mind grows still.
Walking doesn't fix everything. But it reminds me that I can move forward, gently and patiently, one step at a time. And often, that reminder is enough.
In a world that rushes endlessly forward, walking gives me something precious, my own rhythm. It brings me back to the present, to the sound of my breath, to the simple truth that peace is not found by arriving somewhere, but by being where I am.
It brings me home to myself.
