Evolution of Walking: From Necessity to Introspection to Cultural Influence.

Part of why I chose this class was the fact that I’ve always loved walking. Well, maybe loved is a bit of a stretch, but I was definitely always a walker. Growing up, my family always made a big push to not use cars when possible. So, I walked to and from school. Sure, a bus could pick me up, but I would have to be at my stop almost 90 minutes before my school day began, whereas I can walk 15 minutes and get there just the same. It was an effortless walk, half a block from my house to Dee Rd, where I take a left and within 10 minutes I’m at my elementary school. In middle school, the walk was even more straightforward, as instead of turning left eventually, it was just a straight line from my house. A walk was never necessarily fun; it was a path from Point A to Point B, and often that path unfortunately included a lot of snow, rain, or even both. Up until I began high school, walking to me was a mode of transport, nothing more, nothing less.

Walking began taking a more immediate role in my life come high school. I lived directly across the street from my high school, so though I did walk to school, it was at most 50 paces to get to class. So well, how is walking so important if I don’t even walk anymore? That would be with my discovery of the forest trail. The Des Plaines River Trail, just half a mile from school/home, became a daily destination as I stumbled upon the therapeutic effects of nature and the outdoors there. Walks became a time to think, cry, smile, anything and everything. Forest walks also presented me with choices. To take the route around the lake, or head towards the prairie, to hear the quiet gospel of birds and the breeze, or hear Depeche Modes synths and drums kick up. Forest walks brought me from a walking stone age of pure transport to seeking contemplation through walking. The path I took became a reflection of mood rather than necessity.

Here is an example of how varying degrees of surroundings there are on the trail just minutes away from each other. The lake above offers its own loop around, as well as having an open-grass area on its peninsula (as seen). However, one can also continue on the main gravel trail (below) to find themselves surrounded by far more trees and usually a nice shade.

With all the forest walks, calling myself the Into The Wild’s flaneur became a shared joke recently. As it wasn’t a mindless venture into the woods, it definitely brought a similar feeling to our walks that replicated the thought process of a flaneur. In particular, the flaneur’s connection to psychogeography piqued my interest as it reminded me of my decision-making in the forest. As Hannah Steinkopf-Frank defines it, psychogeography is the “environment’s impact on an individual’s behaviors or emotions — notwithstanding whether or how much that person is aware of such influence” (Steinkopf-Frank). I often slowed down in the darker areas of the forest, almost to a standstill at times. At certain times of day when an abundance of birds can be heard, I frequently walked with my eyes shut to better take in what I hear. I don’t necessarily know why I made those choices, yet my surroundings caused me to make those decisions.

With college came the introduction of the effects walkers have on our world. Walkers provide the city with things otherwise unattainable, from safety to ambiance to many other things. One is more likely to get mugged at night on an empty residential street than on Addison St. in Wrigleyville. Concentrations of people keep us safe. And outside of safety, a street busy with people feels better than the contrary. Walking in Fulton Market, you feel more alive than, say, on Webster past Racine next to DePaul. Further, to state the obvious, walking (along with biking) remains the only real emission-free mode of transport within cities, and if you have a fast pace, you can probably outwalk most to all shorter bus rides.

Walks, and life in general, seem a lot more trivial in the suburbs than in the city. In Chicago, there’s cars upon cars, horns blaring at every busy intersection, bright lights, flashy signs, and buildings so tall you wonder if there would even be any air left to breathe so far up there. It’s overwhelming. What’s worse is that for a good portion of the city, you, a walker, seem just about as pivotal to the city as the specks of dust you brushed off your shirt before leaving the house today. The city feels like an unstoppable machine, gears grinding into the depths of night, with walkers being pushed to the outside, only left to watch and observe. But, well, from everything I’ve seen in Chicago these past couple of months, it is that walkers have done everything but willingly lose their place in the city.

The Chicago River, as seen on the Clark St. Bridge. The river, prior to settlement, served as a connection to many settlements across the area, often using the (now nonexistent) shorelines for travel. As can be deciphered by the image, traveling in a particular direction not immediately available through sidewalks can be a challenge in the city.

Walker’s most vital role in the city is their sway on social/cultural issues surrounding everyone. Today, Chicago remains one of the most segregated major cities in the Western world. From deep-rooted racism made evident with redlining during America’s push for urbanization all the way to gentrified neighborhoods, our Windy City has a crisis of pushing out ‘outsiders,’ which is just about everyone not white. Many neighborhoods, including DePaul’s very own Lincoln Park, succumbed to this gentrification due to the higher costs of living associated with the influx of wealthier white people in the neighborhood. However, specific neighborhoods fighting to keep their culture and people afloat have found ways to combat this change. And how might that be? By getting outside and walking.

My experiences in Humboldt Park were unique from every other neighborhood I’ve been in. Nothing was too special or differentiating about the buildings or cars; the park itself was nice but nothing extraordinary. Yet, Humboldt Park was unusual, and that was because of the people. My visits to this neighborhood may have been the only times in my life that I ever felt a neighborhood genuinely united. Puerto Rican flags on almost every shop store window, with more flying from the above apartment units. People in the stores, people outside, people eating, it was a community that felt consistently alive. As I see it, this social exchange happening outdoors is the most critical factor in preserving a community and its history. Sure, a congregation of people might make a street safer and look nicer, but more importantly, it keeps the street flourishing. Such an idea is found all over the world with the desire to preserve a location and what makes it unique, “Bailly speaks of Paris as a collection of stories, a memory of itself made by the walkers of the streets. Should walking erode, the collection may become unread or unreadable” (Solnit). Walking, exploring, and congregating helps keep the places you love alive.

Humboldt Park, filled with people loud and proud about who they are and where they come from.

That being said, walking isn’t solely enough to challenge the problems we face today in our world. Protesting or organizing groups can obviously progress further than just going outside. On the Lakeshore, black people face disproportionate abuse and stops from police officers for simply using public space. Walking doesn’t solve such a crisis, as the people affected are already the walkers. In such cases, people have found success with “art, storytelling, and ecological stewardship [being used as] tools to chip away at this discomfort in parkland, restore disinvested parks and neglected wildlife areas, and create spaces where Black and brown Chicagoans feel a sense of personal stewardship” (Posner). Meida McNeal brings locals together to make Chicagos parks more friendly towards everyone. The beautiful thing about it is that such ideas don’t work against the effects of walking, but with it, together, these can create even more powerful results that shape our communities.

An often overlooked way that walkers alter their surroundings. Just about every streetlight in the city is covered in tiny stickers, advertisements, and symbols. Always interesting to see the broken-down stickers and wonder what might they have told us about the person who put them there.

And now, we reach today, where I find myself wondering how to phrase what walking is to me. And today, the answer is that walking is a revolution. A revolution that comes in many forms for many different people. Walking may take you to school today, but it might help keep your neighborhood alive tomorrow. Walking may be a necessity today, having to persevere in the cold rain and snow against your will, or it may be a choice to walk, where those same circumstances provoke delight. And that’s the magical thing about it: we all may walk the same path for different reasons and leave behind colliding trails and memories, shaping not just ourselves but the places we are in. From walking to school growing up to now exploring Chicago, walking has transformed itself into a duality of environment affecting walk and walk affecting environment. The balance of those two pushes us to take a stand for our communities, bettering ourselves simultaneously.

Bibliography:

Baer, Geoffrey. “The History of the Chicago River: The Chicago River Tour with Geoffrey Baer.” WTTW Chicago, 29 Nov. 2017, interactive.wttw.com/chicago-river-tour/history-chicago-river.

Posner, Emeline. “Sites for Leisure, Sites of Danger.” South Side Weekly, 12 July 2018, southsideweekly.com/sites-for-leisure-sites-of-danger-parkland-public-space/.

Solnit, Rebecca. “Paris or Botanizing on the Asphalt.” Wanderlust: A History of Walking, Penguin Books, New York, 2001.

Steinkopf-Frank, Hannah. “Walkers in the City — and Everywhere — Jstor Daily.” Walkers in the City — and Everywhere, JSTOR, 4 Oct. 2023, daily.jstor.org/walkers-in-the-city-and-everywhere/.