On walking

In my early twenties, I had a boss at my first "real" 9-5 job who would occasionally make comments about the fact that I lived and worked in the same town. She would say some iteration of "wow, your world is just getting smaller and smaller, Kevin" with a patronizing smile.

The comment didn't bother me in a way that made me feel attacked, but it did bother me because I felt strongly that her assessment was wrong. I wanted to tell her that my world was actually bigger because I walked to work every day. I wanted to tell her that my mind and body were stronger and healthier because I walked to work every day. I wanted to tell her that her way of thinking was one of capitalism's biggest victories.

She was not the only one to make these kinds of comments throughout the course of my life, but I knew even then that my world was bigger simply because I could slow down and experience more. I heard the sounds of ocean waves, I saw birds, I felt the sun on my face, I took photos, and I'd often run into people in my community– sometimes just smiling and waving at each other, but other times stopping to chat for a bit. This, to me, makes for a big, expansive, inspiring, and connected life.

I have always preferred walking, for so many reasons. And yet, I have always had a car, with the exception of my time in Los Angeles. When I lived in Oakland for two years during Covid, I had a car but preferred walking. I'd walk around the lake near my apartment, I'd walk to the grocery store or farmers market. I'd even walk to the gym in the mornings before work, which took me about 20-30 minutes each way.

Fast forward to today, I now live in Los Angeles, which is one of the least walkable cities, and I don't have a car. I got rid of it in Oakland and moved to LA with a goal to see if I could exist in this city without one. I wanted to see if I could find a home that had good food, a grocery store, parks, a gym, and entertainment nearby. Thankfully, my neighborhood checks a lot of these boxes, which means that I'm able to walk to meet a lot of these needs. And for the things it doesn't have, I take public transportation, rent cars, use ride sharing apps, or carpool with friends who have cars.

I'm not the first person to choose this way of moving through Los Angeles. Octavia Butler, who grew up in Pasadena and never learned to drive, spent her life navigating this city on buses and on foot. She kept notebooks documenting plants and trees, and wrote out lists on walks and bus rides that often read like poems. Walking wasn't a limitation for her. It was part of her creative practice. It was how she observed the world in a way that inspired her to build the ones she wrote about.

I recently completed a month-long hand-building ceramics course at a studio in LA. I signed up for this class with the intention of walking there, which was about a 40-minute walk from my apartment. Each week, I'd leave about an hour before class to walk there, giving myself a little extra time to pause if I felt inspired to.

What I noticed on this weekly walk was pretty similar to what I notice on other lengthy walks that extend past one neighborhood in LA. I noticed the way the sky changed throughout the duration of the walk. I noticed the way the light shifted as the sun was setting. I heard the birds chirping as they perched on top of fences and trees. I collected inspiration from shadows on the sidewalk and the bright colors of the houses I walked past. I waved to the people I take classes with at my local gym. I arrived to the pottery class full of energy and inspiration (and a good amount of sweat).

I recently discovered a Stanford study by Marily Oppezzo and Daniel Schwartz that found "walking increased creative divergent thinking in 81% of participants" and that the effect persisted even after sitting back down. I didn't need a study to tell me this, but it's nice to know that what I feel on these walks has been validated in a way that's hard to argue with.

The unfortunate things I often notice on long walks are that a lot of the pathways I need to pass are not accessible to me. Sometimes the foliage covers them completely, sometimes there are no crosswalks at all, and sometimes the path forward is blocked by construction. I notice this a lot when going on walks that pass through two or more neighborhoods within LA. I usually reach at least one point in the walk that doesn't feel walkable and think "I'm not supposed to be here," even though that's the recommended route on the map. To me, this reveals that not many people are walking, and the people who are walking are having a challenging time.

Believe it or not, despite all the challenges, I still choose walking.

Capitalism teaches us to consume rather than contemplate. To move fast so you don't get bored. I worry that in the pursuit of experiencing more, we're forgetting about the world right in front of us. We're not engaging with it because we believe we've already collected what we need from it.

Most mornings I wake up early and get ready to go to the gym. Oftentimes, I leave my apartment at the same time one of my neighbors walks her dog. We smile and wave at each other on the sidewalk. I sometimes stop and chat with another neighbor who reminds me that I'm welcome to take oranges off the tree that grows in their front yard. Because the gym is so close to my house, I also run into other people who are joining the same class I am on my walk there. After class, I stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things, interacting with a lot of the same cashiers who work there. Depending on the time of year, I'm able to take in the sunrise on my walk to or from the gym. If the sun is bright enough, I'll also see a group of lizards sunning themselves on the rock wall of another neighbor's yard. This is what I'd want to share with my boss back then and now. All of this life, all without a car, all before 9am.