Pedestrian

11-8-11

Walking around a place lets you get to know it better than if you just zip through in some fancy schmancy vehicle. That's my opinion, anyway.

Granted, I am a little biased because I prefer walking to driving (when I can, of course), but I think it holds true. There's only so little one can see from the driver's seat of a car. Now, there's more to see if you're a passenger, but most often, there's no getting out and experiencing the place.

For ten and a half months I walked on Ebeye. Now, there's a place to be a pedestrian. You can do a circuit of the entire island in half an hour if you don't stop to talk to anybody. That's a rarity, though, because people are everywhere, especially in the cool of the evening. The sidewalks are the congregating places for the people--kids play in the street, everyone watches out for the taxis, and everybody spends time together (usually while watching a pickup basketball game).  I miss that feeling of togetherness that came with the end of the day, out on the streets and in our apartments.

Last year I was forced to be a pedestrian on campus. Even though it had already been my plan to walk to classes and work (because I think it's sort of stupid to drive from Southern Village to the rest of campus), I no longer had a vehicle with which to be tempted. So I walked. I still walk this year (even though I've got The Green Machine) and it's still cheaper and healthier than driving.

Besides, you see things when you walk from place to place. At least, if you're paying attention, that is. You can see things like the different ways the ocean looks at different times during the day, or the ways the dogs play and fight and which one is the boss this week, if the corner shop that sells fried doughnuts painted its exterior walls yet, if the roosters were fighting on the corrugated metal roofs while the cats idly watched.

You see things when you walk from place to place. At least, if you're paying attention, that is. You can see things like the way that tree looks like it's on fire from the bottom up (even though it's just the leaves changing color), or the fact that a groundhog (or something akin to one) lives underneath the Promenade near Brock, the lemons scrawled onto the concrete, the chipmunks darting from rock to rock, the beads of water on the flowers, the American goldfinches clinging to the weeds (well, before Landscape Services comes and cleans up that particular flowerbed), the cardinals, the squirrels, the way the sun squints through the leaves and winks at the students walking by.

Walking forces you to slow down. (Normally, anyway. If you plan enough time for it.) Walking allows for time to think and talk and pray, for time to be and breathe and see.

When Wind Symphony was in Chicago, IL, during our Fall '07 tour, we got to traipse through downtown Chicago, and right there in the middle of evening traffic was a man playing a clarinet that had duct tape holding it together. And the first thing I had wondered was if anybody but us was actually hearing this guy--and I still wonder, since today's society seems to be about rushrushrush, quickquickquick.

Being a pedestrian is not pedestrian. As long as you pay attention.

More later.