cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

walk don’t walk

It took me a long time to learn how to walk, my parents say. Now that I know how to walk and have done it for a few decades, I don’t want to stop. Some days I think about walking home and just walking past, walking to the ocean, and then turning around and walking back again.

I love to walk like some people I know love to run. They have always gone faster, and I don’t mind anymore.

Walking is my everything medicine. When I have insomnia, I walk. When I am sad, I walk. Angry, walk. Confused, walk. Hungry, walk (to pick up food).

A few hours ago, I read that Kurt Vonnegut died, and I immediately wanted two things: I wanted to walk, and I wanted at the end of that walk to be a group of my friends sitting in a pub and talking about how Vonnegut’s books changed our lives.

But I will settle for a walk.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.