Morning Walks With Strangers
“An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.”
I treasure my morning walks. I head off in one of two directions with Tucker when I step out the front door. On the mornings that I need solitude, I follow the river trail east. I see fewer people when I head east and I can immerse myself in the natural world that merges with my suburban life. If I am lucky, I will see one of the coyotes living on the island just a stone’s throw from the mainland. When the tide is low, they wander over to hunt in the farmer’s fields. Once I saw a coyote carrying dinner home across the mudflats back to the island. The wonders of nature almost always provide something new and unexpected when I walk into the sun.
On other mornings I am drawn west, to the village, sometimes by the lure of the tasty almond lattes made by my favourite barista but more often because I need human connection - if only to smile or say hello. Heading towards the village I encounter hummingbirds and flickers, and I watch the fisherman on the dock, as the occasional sea lion bellows nearby.
I have been walking into the village for over 30 years now. Back then it was impossible to walk along the river because a fishing cannery blocked off access. The landscape has been completely transformed over the years. Housing developments now proliferate this stretch of land. Farmland has been overtaken by suburbia. Today, there is a boardwalk that stretches along the river from our home to the village.
A few of the people I encounter on my morning village walks are the same people I have been encountering these 30+ years. Others have come and gone over the years – busy with full-time work, recovering from injuries, or downsizing to smaller homes as nests have emptied and retirement approaches. Some have simply disappeared.
This past year, with so many of us staying close to home, I am seeing familiar faces I have not seen for many years. Just this morning I met an older woman walking with a cane, holding on to the arm of a younger man. I said good morning. She responded and her voice had a familiar cadence. It was not until I was further along the boardwalk that I realized she was a colleague of mine who had retired fifteen years ago.
I have recently also encountered several parents of children with whom my girls attended elementary school. We greet each other with a smile or nod of recognition. We never engage in conversation. In fact, rarely do I speak to any of the familiar faces I have been encountering these past 30 years.
And yet, I will stop and talk to complete strangers. Although as I write these words I realize that I rarely talk, mostly I listen. This has become a daily occurrence this past pandemic year. Every day on my village walks I see strangers who have such an aura of loneliness. Others seem to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. I smile and say good morning to everyone I meet. I usually get a response, but not always. Conversations usually start tentatively - admiring the sunrise, watching the eagles soaring overhead, or laughing at the antics of children playing nearby – and at that moment there is a connection. The words that follow sometimes start slowly, revealing life’s worries over weeks of conversations. And other times it is like a dam has broken and words and emotions rush towards me.
Most of the conversations carry an air of sadness. John,* who has just lost his third wife, has also lost his desire to live. Maria, who openly talks about her dementia diagnosis, worries that her daughter will move in with her as her caregiver. Johanna shares that I am often the only person she speaks to all day. Occasionally I hear joyful reminiscences of lives well-lived but I think I am drawn to those who need to talk through their worries and sadness.
The people I worry about are those who will not even raise their eyes to return my morning greeting. There is a man who sits on his walker staring out at the river every morning as I walk by, his back turned to me. And for the last three years, I have occasionally met a young woman who can barely lift her feet as she walks along, her eyes cast down. I can’t seem to connect to these people – but Tucker can. He always pulls on his leash wanting to approach them but I have been careful not to overstep the boundaries they have pulled tight around them. Finally, over the last few weeks, inroads have been made, although still no conversation.
One day I stood behind the man sitting on his walker and said, “I think my dog wants to say hello to you”. He did not turn, nor did he speak. He just lifted one arm. That was enough of an invitation for Tucker who went and sat beside him and rested his head in his lap. This has become part of my morning routine; I stand quietly for a few minutes while Tucker provides some comfort.
And the young woman? She continues to pull at my heartstrings. A few weeks ago Tucker tugged me towards her – frankly, I think he was just hoping for treats because she had her hands in her pockets. Tucker is such a mooch! But it broke the ice. She kneeled down and put her arms around him. She then looked at me with the smallest of smiles. She does not speak English. She continues to ignore me most of the time. But occasionally she will reach out her hand and stroke Tucker’s back as we walk by.
When I was younger I wanted to change the world, I think we all did. Now that I am older I am content in knowing that maybe, for only a few moments, I have made a difference in someone’s life. I know that connecting with these strangers on my morning walks has certainly made a difference in my life.
* I have changed names and slightly altered details to provide some confidentiality.