Those of us who love to walk, especially those who walk long distances, are a fairly predictable bunch. The time of day – and days – we walk are predictable. The routes we take are predictable. And, once we hit our stride, even our pace is predictable. We’re people who love structure. We also tend to be fairly introverted and introspective. We enjoy the peace and quiet that walks afford and seek out paths and surroundings that help guarantee we will experience both. We are comfortable in our own skin and with our own thoughts and, consequently, have no qualms about being in our own company for hours at a time. Some of us use the time to write, others to unwind, and still others to listen to a favorite play list or podcast. Some simply breathe in the sights, sounds, and rhythms of nature. I suppose many would find the predictability of it all unappealing, if not downright unbearable, but not us. We find it intoxicating.
That said, walking is not purely a solitary pursuit. There’s a sense of community that develops over time among those who share our predictable paths. It’s a comradery borne, I suspect, of an intuitive understanding of all we have in common. There’s also a looking forward, at least for me – to seeing the same familiar faces, exchanging an early morning or evening pleasantry, and sharing a smile or word of encouragement. If you’re fortunate to walk where I do, from time to time, you also get to see plenty of 4-legged friends – some of whom already know you and some who don’t – yet. I always make it a point to share my very cheerful “good morning’s” with them as well. And, if their owner will allow it, I stop and offer an outstretched hand and a few minutes of attention. I want them to know that they, like their leash-holder, are seen and that I’m a friend. Most are understandably reticent at first, but, in time, they usually come around.
And, so it was a few weeks back, as I rounded a corner on a beautiful Saturday morning, and saw an elderly gentleman, who I’d never seen before, and two young puppies coming down the path – all noticeably indifferent to the stranger headed in their direction. As is my custom, I paused to say “hello” and slowly bent down to introduce myself to what I hoped would eventually be 2 new, furrily-adorable friends. After a few gentle pats on the head, I was on my way. I couldn’t help but wonder if their owner was as predictable as the rest of us and, if so, whether the 4 of us would meet again. Turns out, he is and we did – at least twice in the week that followed and a few more in the week after that. Each time, I stopped, stooped, stayed a little longer, and smiled a little more broadly. Their owner didn’t seem to mind, nor, I gathered from their fervently-wagging tails, did they. We were becoming friends.
I had to travel for business the following week. But, last Saturday I was at it again, as predictable as the sunrise – same time, same path, same pace, same familiar corner. That’s when I saw them, my new “friends” … still maybe 150 yards away … and they saw me! I wish I could find words to adequately describe their reaction – their playful, exuberant, “let-me-off-this-leash-immediately” circle jumps, their joyful squeals, their wagging-a-mile-a-minute tails – or the breadth and depth of the smile that exploded across my work-weary face and heart because of it. “How is this possible?” I thought to myself, as I picked up my pace and hurried to greet them. I’d only been gone a few days and they’d only known me a few weeks and yet, to “hear them” tell it, it was as if two lifelong friends were seeing each other again for the first time in decades. That’s how much they’d already come to value just 5 minutes of time with me.
In retrospect, I probably lingered a little longer than I should’ve, basking in the tongue baths I was being treated to. I’m pretty sure their owner hadn’t planned on our reunion being the event it turned out to be. Then again, neither did I. I also hadn’t planned on the mist that filled my eyes as I stood and walked away, overwhelmed, I later decided, by the realization of what a profound difference being missed, greeted, and desired like THAT can make and how starkly the gift I’d just been given contrasts with the too-frequently indifferent way we “humans” greet and treat each other – even those we profess to care for and value most – every day. I’m not at all sure why it took 6 decades and 2 adorable puppies for me to experience what a real “I-can’t-believe-you’re-in-my-life” greeting looks and feels like for the first time, but I’m sure glad I finally did. I just hope it’s not the last!
donblackwell 