The Walking Worried
Don’t waste your precious walk worrying. Try this simple technique to engage your five senses instead.
I don’t watch The Walking Dead. Even so, as the popular series lurches through our collective consciousness, I can’t help being aware it’s about zombies vs. humans in a post-apocalyptic world and the complex social interplay that happens when people are fighting for survival.
So what do zombies have to do with walking? And worrying?
Re-animated corpses from the underworld, zombies are driven to maniacally, mechanically eat human flesh even though they’re undead and can’t feel or taste a thing.
Those of us in the waking world, however, are very much alive. But we worry so much about endless to-do lists, past arguments, future conflicts, what to eat for dinner and who’s going to make it (surprise: you again) that we walk around slack-jawed and moaning like zombies, and don’t experience life around us.
I’ve arrived at my destination more than once, not sure how I got there.
To be fair, we’ve had a lot to worry about lately. COVID-19, climate change, ridiculous grocery bills, social isolation, increasing homelessness, poverty and mental illness. In my hometown, calls for mental health support to 211, a 24/7 hotline for information referrals to social programs and services, are up 50% over this time last year. And we think we’re through this pandemic thing.
So what’s the antidote for us walking worried?
I might have just the magic elixir. Peel yourself away from the screens and come for a walk with me. I’ll lead you through an easy technique called five senses that my friend Marg, a social worker by trade, taught me.
It’s a simple countdown that keeps your brain and body grounded in the here and now.
And it starts with identifying five things you can see.
Today, I start with easy things: a red car, a stop sign. As I come around the bend, last night’s heavy snowfall blankets the forested ravine I pass on my walk to work (and my fake walk to work) each day.
Yesterday’s blue tent is gone. For a beat, I think the person sleeping there found a warm place to stay. Safe.
Then I scan to the other side of the ravine and see the tent nestled in the treeline sloping to the river. There’s a mattress stacked against one side, a barricade against minus 25-degree nights. As if the physics of that were possible. So no, not safe. Moved to the other side of the road.
Next, I take a deep breath, refocus, and listen for four sounds. On my typical urban walk that could be birds chirping, boots scuffing the pavement, the crunch of leaves or snow underfoot. Today, it’s super-cold and dry. Fresh snow squeaks like yipping puppies. The mailbox clangs as I post a card to my father for his 80th birthday. The crows ca-caw back and forth, plotting their morning business.
Finding three things to smell at the tail-end of winter is hard. The flowers aren’t out, the trees aren’t budding and, thankfully, the dog poop is solid.
Adjusting my scarf, I catch a hint of ski wax. The beat-up leather mittens my mother gave me are saturated with it. The smell brings back so many good memories of whole days cross-country skiing, shushing along groomed trails, cutting through fresh snow. Sparkling light filtered through dense forest. Beautiful.
Passing the highschool, the unexpected smell of aftershave jolts me back to the here-and-now. I didn’t think the kids were into that anymore but it seems youthful peacocking is alive and well. Life is good.
Touch also takes some creativity when you’re on a walk, but I can almost always find at least two things. Today, it’s the snug feel of my boots now that I have new laces, the burning ache in my left toe, the softness of the lining inside my winter gloves.
And then I’m home. Time for breakfast and the fifth sense: taste. Sure, I could bring snacks, but I’d rather walk in anticipation. Today breakfast is steel-cut oats loaded with chocolate, pumpkin seeds, spicy cinnamon, ginger, turmeric and a pinch of nutmeg, the sweet taste of clementines and hot, perfectly bitter black coffee.
Sitting at our kitchen table, I’m content. When I focus on life around me, everything else falls away and I lose myself in new ways to describe everyday things. This morning, I noticed the cheerful yellow and blue fire hydrant I’ve walked past hundreds of times. And the distinct sounds the garbage truck makes: the low whine as it goes by, the sharp whistle as the tires brake for each stop, the deep ka-thunk as bags, cans and bottles hit heavy metal.
Sure, I know my problems will be there when I get back home. But often a solution is waiting too, even if it’s a clear head and perspective that worries are like a fast-flowing river: you can’t swim in them all the time and it’s okay to get out and rest.
I love how Rick Rubin says it in this interview with Malcolm Gladwell about ‘The Creative Act: A Way of Being,’ the famous music producer’s first book: “If you have a problem…do something that takes your mind off of what you’re trying to solve and engages you in something else. And most often…the part of you that’s in the way of solving the problem loses its control over you.”
For me that something else is walking. Engage your senses along the way, and you’ll discover beauty, joy and fascination with every step. Your problems might just solve themselves.
If you get home and still have worrying to do…
Psychologist and blogger Nick Wignall says schedule a worry session. I know. I laughed too, more than a little maniacally. Which means I might need to try it.
Here’s how it goes:
· set a timer for 10 uninterrupted minutes every day
· grab a notebook or piece of paper
· write down EVERY worry, problem and fear — write fast, write messy and don’t stop for solutions, full sentences or spelling
· when the timer goes, put down your pen and tell yourself you’ll get to any worries you missed tomorrow
This free-flow of words feels a lot like mind mapping to me, something I often do before writing. Like a mind map, it feels good to get it all down on paper.
According to Wignall, that’s part of the magic: “By purposefully acknowledging your worries and writing them down, it signals to your brain that you’re aware of the most concerning and important issues in your life, and that you have a reliable system for staying on top of them,” he says, “…over time [your mind] will stop encouraging you to cycle over and over them.”
