Go. Outside. Into nature. Walk. Sit. Explore. Get Curious. So, I went. I checked all of the boxes. Without thought or attention to the assignment at first. This walk is something we do most days so as these repetitive daily tasks go – like the route so often traveled that we head in the wrong direction; our bodies programmed to make all the same turns – we ventured through this usual path, allowing our thoughts to wander aimlessly without intention.
The night was quiet. There were few people wandering the streets as is normal on these brisk December nights. I enjoy this stretch of the walk the most. A little night life, the lights illuminating the shop windows. Browsing through these storefronts at antiques and comics and people enjoying a bit of cheer.
I admire the massive historic church that adorns the main intersection of this textile district. I say hi to Mr. Horton as we round store number one into the calmer community that surrounds the business district. I’m always in awe of the Christmas display at Santa’s workshop at Grosvenor.
As we make our way through the park adjacent to our home, I remember the task at hand for up until this point, I hadn’t been paying attention to what I saw, smelt, tasted, heard or felt as I robotically made my way through the city streets like any other day.
As we made that final turn down the pathway leading out of the park, I remembered what Matthew had asked us in mile marker six in a quest for more joy.
A train was coming at that moment. It was almost as if its chime alerted me to the assignment that I wasn’t being mindful of. They pass through this densely populated neighbourhood a few times a day, traveling from the steel factories to the north, heading south to the shunting yard that lines our tree-lined escarpment.
Finnegan doesn’t love the sounds of a train rumbling by, any more than the swoosh of a bus clunking and whirling by – both sending his tail between his legs and causing his ears to press flat against his fluffy head. We sit though – I on that steel park bench – the flashing red lights ding and ring as the locomotive slowly passes by.
Oftentimes these trains squeal with the sounds of rusted brakes and loud chugs as they emit clouds of black crud into the open windows of neighbouring homes a block away, but this one in particular was pressed more gently across the tracks, and puffed more softly and subtly into the still air. It still had its odour to it. Enough to break that fresh scent of zero temperature winters, but it wasn’t overbearing. It was still enough that you could taste it, but not enough to make you feel like you were walking through a casino in Gary, Indiana.
Once the train passed, we turned our bodies, and sat facing north, at the illuminated smoke billowing from the steel factories that line our shoreline. In the foreground, there is a yard that shares a fence line with the park, that is completely lit up with strings of yellow lights.
In the end, we only spent ten minutes mindfully contemplating the senses we were assigned to be cognizant of, but it was enough to reflect on the sites we had ventured through prior to these rare moments of introspection. Enough to pause. To look up. To see the stars in the clear skies. As many as can be seen through the mist of city lights, anyway. Enough to see, feel, hear, smell, and taste our daily routine through awoken senses – an open mind – and with intention.
The night was not unlike two decades of winter evening walks, yet unique in what I asked of its company – for a moment to truly feel the gifts it’s repetition gift me each night, as I otherwise mindlessly walk its paths.
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It’s been awhile since I have dove into Matthew McConaughey’s Road Trip, but I am determined to finally finish it this week.
This assignment reminded me of going on Artist Dates with yourself, as recommended in Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way.