When did a walk turn into a “mindfulness” walk?
At work the other day, I read through some remarkable flash cards called Calm—Mindfulness Flashcards for Kids: 40 Activities to Help You Learn to Live in the Moment. One of the card suggestions was to take a mindfulness walk. It didn’t evoke any sort of response in me at the time. But now, a few days later, the suggestion has initiated some additional thought.
Why is it called a “mindfulness” walk? My simplest definition of mindfulness is living in the present moment. So, why do we have to label going for a walk, where we are present to our surroundings, a “mindfulness walk”? Why can’t it just be a walk? Shouldn’t we already be fully present on our walks? Is there another way of going on a walk without being present?
River walks
Recently, I have been doing my best to go for an 8:30 p.m. evening stroll along the river about a block from my apartment. This may be what spurred my reflection on the concept of “mindfulness” walks.
During my river walks, I silence my phone and keep it tucked in my pocket. My one rule is that my phone does not come out of my pocket (unless the sunset is too unreal and I need to take a picture). Without the distraction of my phone, I am more open to the present. Every night holds a different adventure.
One night it is two boys playing music on a speaker, bopping their bodies side to side at every rhythmic rotation the song offers. Another night it is the beautiful sight of four dads laughing together as they watch their little ones play in the park. Tonight, it was a small boy around the age of four pushing a wheelbarrow. He had the facial features of a child with Down Syndrome and a smile that beamed.
As I walked by the boy and his mother, I commented on his cool wheelbarrow, to which he responded by flashing a mischievous grin. The next thing I knew, he started to wheelbarrow backward, dropped it to the ground and sprinted forward. I wasn’t going to let him race without an opponent, so I trailed behind, fake-running as fast as I could. I repeatedly shouted, “You are so fast! You are too fast for me!”
I could tell he loved that I was chasing him. He stopped running and then shouted, “Stop!” I immediately stopped running. He then said, “Look!”
He pointed to somewhere in the distance, and as I turned my head, he took off running. Gosh darn, his ploy to distract me was brilliant. I laughed and called out to him, “You are so smart. You are too fast for me!”
We went through about four cycles of “Stop!”/ “Look!”/ run. My being was coursing with laughter. At the end of our last sprint, the boy came over to his mom and me (I assume the older woman with him was his mom). “La mano, la mano,” the little boy said as he grabbed his mom’s and my hands. He held our hands and jumped, and then continued to hold our hands as we walked forward. It was one of the sweetest and most innocent gestures of love. We made it to the end of the sidewalk where they turned left and I turned right.
Those experiences were lived “mindfully.” I was just living in the present moment.
We live in a world of noise
I feel disappointed that as a culture, we have come to a place where just fully living in the here and now needs a trendy phrase. But I get it. We inhabit a world of noise, pulling us in any direction other than the now. We live in a world where the word “mindfulness” is a required reminder to recenter and be present.
We inhabit a world of noise, pulling us in any direction other than the now.
This world of noise is not just reduced to the world of technology, where apps and ads call for our attention and cultivate contempt. There is also a world of noise in our own heads, the place where thoughts circulate into a whirlpool and we are perpetually caught in the splash-zone of our anarchic anxieties.
This inner world can be sneakily pervasive and trick us into believing that this is the totality of our experience. You put down your technology, you leave to go for a “mindfulness” walk, and the whirlpool jets turn on. There you are, in the middle of the whirlpool, and nothing on the walk feels real. Not very “mindful,” even without the presence of technology.
I know that fixating on my inner world would not have allowed me to notice those dads’ rambunctious laughter, sprint with the little boy or do a little dance to the boys’ tunes. It took being open to the world outside of me to be present, to be “mindful.”
More in the world than in our minds
In a world of noise, the intention to go for a “mindfulness walk” helps us stay open to what is around us. “Mindfulness” doesn’t completely turn off the whirlpool jets, but rather, it helps us recognize that this inner world of noise isn’t the only reality happening. There is a tremendous amount of reality outside our minds that also exists. And this outer reality gently invites us to notice and participate.
So, now I understand how “mindfulness” requires a certain awareness of the alternate worlds that pull us away from the present world in front of us. I have gone for plenty of walks where I couldn’t list more than five things I noticed on the walk. I’ve been on plenty of walks that were not “mindful.” These walks are ones where I am so unobservant of nature, the sensations in my body and the humanity of those near me that while I am walking, I don’t know where I really am.
The distinction between a walk preoccupied by the noise of the mind or technology and a walk that is open to the present moment reveals why it is necessary to distinguish between a walk and a “mindfulness” walk. I wish we didn’t have to distinguish between a mindfulness walk and a walk. I wish I could just be walking and present and that is that.
Regardless of whether I choose to call my nightly strolls a walk, a “mindfulness walk,” time spent moving one leg in front of the other, or whatever else, I hope to be present to the world in front of me that yearns to be shared.
"СВЯЗАННОЕ ЧТЕНИЕ" LABYRINTH FOR LIFE: The body, mind and heart are meant to take a walk every day»
фото 1 Mabel Amber, who will one day; изображение 2: Sasin Tipchai image 3: Dany Kurniawan
