Walking through Life

New York City was made for pedestrians. By design, the city was built for walking. From cars not being allowed to turn right on red, to entire sections of street traffic being diverted for designated public spaces, to a greenway wrapping the island top to bottom – walking was the forethought in planning this city.

When you think about traffic and parking, even if you don't care about the environment, walking just makes the most sense. I can say that with some authority in that I have lived here for over ten years and owned a car until recently. After years of using my lunch breaks to move my car from one side of the street to the other, I decided that my best bet was to buy a vespa, use the subway, and get by on my own two feet. Depending on the weather and the distance, I can get wherever I need at any time.

All things considered, if I can walk somewhere, I do. I walk everywhere even if it means adding hours to a simple errand. I can get anywhere in this city with decent weather, solid shoes, and a fully charged phone.

Walking is more than mere convenience. It gives me the space to reflect, to work through whatever is in my head, step by step.

I can't remember if I loved walking before I moved to New York, but I know that it's such an integral part of my life now that I have to intentionally find ways to walk when i'm not in the city.

At some point (the timeline is a little blurry) I decided that I wanted to walk the NYC Marathon. It took some planning, some might say conniving, but I finally found a way to get a bib for the 2016 marathon.

Having never competed in a marathon before, I didn't know what to expect. I had friends that could give me advice on how to run a marathon, but no one knew how to prepare me to walk for 26.2 miles in one stretch. In fact, when the subject came up with friends in passing most people tried to discourage me from even attempting. I heard every reason as to why my idea was ill-conceived, but as with most everything else in my life, I have zero interest in entertaining the voices that want to discourage me.

My intent was not to physically challenge myself. My goal was to push myself mentally. It was a deliberate choice to put myself in a situation that demanded full mental attention with no ability to escape. It was the work of the warrior.

I wanted that challenge.

I wanted those lessons.

Usually it takes me weeks, sometimes months, to reflect on life and absorb the lessons I have learned along the way. I'm a slow processor - proudly so, but this experience was different. Over the course of the eight hours that it took from start to finish, I very clearly realized the lessons waiting for me in my walk. With startling clarity I articulated this very blog to my sister when I was still walking through Queens.

For me, that walk felt like an embodiment of what my life has been so far – walking with people and walking at my own pace.

Let me explain...

Walking with people - I only told a handful of people about my plan, only inviting a few on the journey with me. I don't need many people in my life, just a handful of people that I really love. It was this handful that shared my journey with me.

Some of this handful, my handful that live in New York, walked with me along the way.  Literally.  My closest friends in this city met me as I walked through the boroughs, walking actual miles by my side. I had friends that planned their entire days around meeting me, around walking with me. In my life these very people walk next to me every day, sharing all the highs and lows.

My family and friends that live too far to meet me on the street checked in on me along the way, calling and texting as the day went on, letting me know that I wasn't alone as I walked.

There were spurts where I was completely alone, others where I walked side by side with my closest friends, and others where technology connected me to the faces in my life that I couldn't physically see - a balance of my daily routine, just like life.

I couldn't help but think about the people that I have shared my life with, even for a season. I thought about people that I walked next to in my childhood, in my teenage years, and into adulthood. I haven't talked to some of them in over a decade. I talk to some of them regularly. I thought about people that I've reconnected with after years of silence, about people that have recently moved out of the city and that I barely talk to anymore, about the ones that I have walked next to for the past 34 years without a break in stride. Regardless of how I interact with them today, I wouldn't be where I am without them, without the clip we walked together.

And for those people in my life, I am the one walking next to them in their races, whether in the past or present. I am a piece of their story, not just my own.

The point is this – we're all walking with each other, maybe for a season, maybe for life. Some of us were meant for the long haul, others for a New York minute. Either way, we are all meant for each other, for this tangled mess of relationships in the journey.

I'm happier when I walk with a select few, an intentional handful.

I always knew that to be true, but walking through the boroughs with the different faces in my life, with constant reminders of their presence making my phone ding, was the physical representation of my walk through life.

Walking at my own pace – I'm not a typical 34 year old, not even for a New Yorker. I've never heard the same drummer that my peers hear, not the ones I grew up with and not the ones that drive the rhythm of this city.

I walk my own path. I always have.

As I walked through NYC with 50,000 people running past me, I felt the truth of that reality.

I felt like I was walking through my life, start to finish, exactly as I have always walked – with my own vision, my own goals.

The rest of the world was competing, whether with themselves or with the person next to them. Not me. I had my own definition of victory. I wanted to walk every step, meditatively and intentionally, until the end. I mentally prepared myself for months and I was ready when the day came.

The struggle I had, just as in life, was in not justifying myself to the other runners - to the crowd.

Everyone was cheering for me, telling me, “You can do it! Don't give up!”, as if walking was indicative of defeat. As if I needed to be reminded to run, because that's what I was supposed to do.

I had to fight the urge to explain myself. I wanted to stop and tell every well-meaning person on the side, “Thanks for the encouragement, but the thing is - I'm not taking a break from running, I'm walking on purpose.”

My inclination was to turn to everyone and explain myself, just like life.

“No, I don't want kids. The thing is...”

“I'm ok with not being married. The thing is...”

“My five year plan? I'm content doing exactly what I'm doing for the rest of my life. The thing is...”

I have to fight the urge to explain myself every day.

The thing is, I know what path I'm on. It's not the same path as everyone else. I don't need to explain that to anyone.

My people, my handfull, they know. They know my story, they know my past, they know my dreams, they know my business. They walk with me along the way.

I don't need to validate my existence to the millions of people racing past me or to the ones on the sideline. I have to fight that urge every day.

I finished that race on my own terms, having completed my own goals in the journey.

By the time I made it back to Manhattan the race had completely shut down. Water stations had been disbanded. Pacing machines were removed. Onlookers had gone home.

I walked every step, even the final ones, without running one step.

I crossed the finish line with a few geriatric runners and injured competitors. There was no fanfare, no cheering fans, and no one waiting for me.

It was just me. I stepped across that line with so much pride in what I had done and with a renewed sense of confidence to be exactly who I am, to keep walking my own path at my own pace.

As I type this, my bags are packed for my next trip, the next chapter in my book. I leave for the Netherlands this afternoon to work with Afghani refugees.

For a brief window, in the middle of July, I will have the privilege of walking next to a group of young people that have more life experience in their 15 years than I ever hope to know. A group of people that will, no doubt, forever change my stride. I will go with the support of my handful, never truly being alone along the way.

For a brief window, in the middle of July, I will give my all of my time, resources, energy, and expertise to a group of people that have been despised in the West. Part of me will feel the need to defend myself, to defend my decisions, to every raised eyebrow along the way.

For a brief window, in the middle of July, I will walk another marathon. And I will remember what I was meant to learn in the first one, perhaps for such a moment as this.

I will remember the people that I walk with and I won't defend my pace to anyone.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Thanks for walking with me.