Falling Forward

The Grace of

To take the first step.

This is the metaphor we use when beginning something, and it’s so old and rehearsed that we forget we’re using a metaphor at all.

And walking (and even running) are so integral to our lives as bipedal primates that we forget that we do it.

Sure, we use cars to get most places. But even if we’re taking a bicycle, we walk to that vehicle. And, once we’ve reached our destination, we do an awful lot of stepping to reach our subsequent interior destination.

Woe it must surely be to lack this basic capability, as many do. After my car crash, I too lost the ability. And after my surgery, I had to relearn to walk all together.

Which was, of course, a blessing. For it taught (as do most challenges) a lesson. I learned that walking is a blend of strength, balance, and control in falling.

Because that’s what walking is — falling forward.

Some sort of propulsion gets us onto our feet in the first place and, once there, propulsion pushes us into this weird dance we do when enjoying one of our most basic activities. Up I go onto my feet, where a number of muscles engage unconsciously in a concert of activity to establish the balance of the standing state, an art crafted so seamlessly one can not even tell at first glance we’re doing a delicate dance. Watch a young child learn to do it, and this becomes immediately evident.

And forward we go — which is the act of putting our best foot forward, losing that balance, landing on the progressive foot, and re-establishing balance again. Forward the next foot, and the process progresses.

We fall, we fall, we fall, we fall, we fall.

This is the iambic rhythm which Coleridge, Stevens, and hundreds of thousands of others have danced into to create countless poems. Both poets were known to walk as much as thirty or more miles in a single day — Coleridge parading the English countryside to visit poet-friends, Stevens to get to work at the Hartford, often segueing through Elizabeth Park on his way home.

When walking, we don’t feel like we’re falling. We feel like we’re moving, which we are.

And we’re moving forward. (Although often, for exercise and a natural state of psychedelia, I do enjoy walking backwards.)

Thus it is that walking has such restorative powers for the mind and body. Some studies suggest that it can maintain good memory into old age. But, whatever the science, we just know that doing it is good. People wear watches to quantify steps, charting the number of falls, just so that they can indicate to themselves they’ve been active.

And while the activity is integral, it’s only one aspect of the entire psychic enterprise. To view the path ahead, note in aspiration what seems to be the next step or destination, and to move in that direction is a metaphorical act of travel toward.

This consciousness gently guides the mind into an ambient activity which can then free it for thought or conversation. Philosophers and other intellectuals have been known to chat while walking, as Einstein was said to do.

Further, a stroll down the lane unlocks perception of many things we tune out while driving. Oh that person’s front yard is adorable! Oh, what must the history have been that led to these two houses being built next to one another. So different. So similar. Oh, hello stranger! Hello, tree! Hello, squirrel!

In this way, for us, walking is a slowing, a drawing into mindful awareness as Thich Nhat Hanh and so many other meditators have noticed.

Again, I’m glad I learned to do it again, and have the opportunity to practice it daily.

Ambitiously,

Aaron