I remember taking walks with my family when I was little. My sisters and I would ride our bikes or roller skate, going off ahead of my parents and circling back. They walked and talked about stuff that didn’t register with me at age 10 — bills and cars and house stuff. The stuff I talk about with Matt now.
They probably chatted about other, cooler things too. Just like Matt and I do, although my children, like I did when I was little, most likely cannot fathom that their parents would talk about anything cool.
According to this article from the BBC, going for a walk is a becoming a lost art. In many places I think it might be, but not here in England. No, here walking is like a religion. Everyone walks. They walk far. They walk places I would most certainly drive. They walk no matter what the weather — rain, wind, dark, cold. I know for a fact that if I leave my house at a certain time of day to drive somewhere, I will pass specific people on my way out of the village. I don’t know them. But I know they walk, every day probably, at about the same time. Some with dogs. Some without. Walking is a thing here.
The article says May is National Walking Month in the UK. I can’t imagine that people here need a specific reason to celebrate the art of walking, but I can see why May might be the most lovely time to walk. I can imagine how beautiful it will be here come Spring.
Walking supposedly ignites creativity. It’s good exercise. It’s almost certainly time better spent than sitting on Pinterest pinning just one more amazing outfit I won’t buy or perfect kitchen I don’t have.
We haven’t adopted this particular cultural pastime yet, but the weather is getting warmer and we’re all a lot more comfortable in our new surroundings. The days are getting longer — they are SO short here in winter, but gratefully they lengthen quickly. By summer I hear the sun won’t set until possibly after I’m in bed, never mind the children.
A walk here and there sounds pretty good.