…Coffee. Drinking coffee.
I don’t listen to music or podcasts when I walk. This is the time I let my brain sort through all the stimuli and stuff that’s sitting in there and stressing me out.
I will try, really try, to focus on thing, and then let the neurons fire as they will. It’s like spinning the blindfolded kid at “Pin The Tail on the Donkey” and then letting them stumble around until they find the target (or something else that’s more entertaining).
Today, early this morning, before sunrise even, I strode through the Boston Common and down Charles street with my thoughts in tow. What thoughts exactly? I’ll spare you. The things that we truly fret about are rarely that interesting to other people. Or are things you’re fretting about, too (the war on women, the Old Boys’ Network, the imminent threat to reproductive freedom, blatant sexism… that sort of thing).
But it did occur to me: This habit I’ve cultivated, of getting off the train one stop early and walking the extra mile to work, is so, so critical to my self-care. This blurry shot of my real feet hitting these wet bricks is the picture of me maintaining my mental and physical health.
Hippocrates said: “Walking is man’s best medicine.”
Well, it’s women’s, too.