Meredith’s Musings | Walking Home

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

I walk every morning, first thing before I get my day started. During the school year, I went out before the sun came up. Husband worried about my safety and started coming along – a win for me as I know he appreciates the exercise as much as I do. I so enjoyed our solitude in the mornings, watching the sun come up before the madness of the day. We didn’t talk much, as we both prefer silence first thing, but we did typically have our first laugh of the day, and if something needed to be discussed, we had the opportunity before the girls woke up.

This summer, Husband goes for team workouts early in the morning, and I adjusted to a new routine, walking alone a little later, as the need for a 4am wake-up call evaporated. I looked forward to pounding the pavement in solitude, saving my favorite podcast for the following morning. I’m habitual by nature. If I do something one day, I probably do it every day, and often at the same time. I’m not one for spontaneity; I like events well-planned in advance – no doubt the control freak in me. But with the girls home for the summer, my youngest Fable started joining me on my walks. Big sister Wilder started out riding her bike alongside us, but quickly decided the heat was too much for her. So for the last four weeks, I wait for Fable to eat her breakfast and throw on her tennis shoes, and off we go. She’s a trooper, that one, who lately wants to be wherever I am – my silent, ever-present comrade.

They say that the best conversations with our children happen organically, and this has certainly been the case with my 6-year-old. Sometimes we share earbuds, and I introduce her to the music of my generation. She gets a little pep in her step when Madonna belts out her early hits. Eventually, she hands the ear bud back, and I cut off the music to see what will emerge from that mysterious, quirky little brain. She’s incredibly observant, always panning the ground for “treasures,” typically bottle tops, smooth rocks, nuts/bolts, tire rubber, anything left behind. She’ll slyly stick stuff in her pockets, and I’ll find the treasures in the washer drum. She notices cars parked askew, ducks basking near the water, birds dipping through the trees, and airplanes at high altitude (her favorite), always asking where they might be headed.

She doesn’t pepper a conversation with chatter, always listening and chiming in when she has something intentional to say. Yesterday, she mused, “Mom, ya know what I noticed? Whenever we go on a walk, we’re always headed home.” The simple observation fascinated me, as I tend to look for the philosophical nature of her little quips. I responded with a simple, “yep,” waiting to see if she’d elaborate, but that’s not her way. Perhaps maybe she likes routine as well, or perhaps she was reveling in the security of our time together, or perhaps she was just pointing out the obvious. Nevertheless, her musings are a glimpse into the ever-expanding awareness of a six-year-old – an age I’ve been but can’t remember. And my childhood experience was absent the complexities she is being exposed to daily.

I hope our time together is grounding for her. I hope she mirrors my affinity for movement, that she makes the mind/body connection of feeling better on the other side of physical effort. I hope she finds walking to be a refuge from the stresses of life, that yes, even a child experiences, only without the language for it. And I hope that this time with me is something she remembers fondly, that when she pictures me, she pictures walking beside me – headed somewhere that always leads home.