A man’s lifelong habit of taking long walks to express love and deal with hardship is the subject of a personal reflection. The writer describes watching a television scene where a father, unable to change his daughter’s situation, went into the wilderness as a form of prayer. This moment resonated deeply because the writer recognized his own similar behavior.
The writer traces this practice back to his twenties, when he walked seven or eight miles to visit the woman he would later marry. He had a car but chose to travel on foot, believing that tenderness often needs to move through the body before reaching another person. He continues this habit with his parents, walking five miles to their home to arrive fully present and appreciative.
Another instance involved his son, who wore the number five in sports. When the writer learned that Hall of Fame baseball player Brooks Robinson also wore that number, he walked several miles to a card store and back to buy a card, wanting his son to know the number’s significance. The journey felt like the right way to honor the message.
The writer also recalls a time of intense work stress when he hiked fourteen miles to the beach. He did not tell anyone. He walked until the street ended and the ocean appeared, and the tension left him. For him, these walks are a way to transfer something from the inside to the outside, to show that a person or moment matters enough to be honored.
A few years ago, his daughter faced a difficult period. After trying everything to support her, the writer was left with a feeling of helplessness. He laced up his sneakers and walked west. He passed bus stops, plazas, and vacant lots until the city thinned out and the sidewalks ended. It was cold, in the low forties, but he kept going until he reached the fence marking the start of the Everglades.
Standing at the edge of the wilderness, with sawgrass stretching to the horizon, he let himself want her to be okay in a raw, undefended way. He stood there a long time before turning back. When he got home, the temperature had dropped into the thirties. He went to the backyard and got in the pool, staying in the cold water and thinking about her the whole time. He describes it as a small, possibly foolish act, but the truest thing he could do.
The writer does not know if his actions helped her, though she is doing better now. He does not pretend the walk or the cold water had anything to do with that. But he believes he now understands what he has been doing all these years. When love builds up inside, it needs to move. Some people talk, some write, some hold on tight. He pours himself out in the direction of the ones he loves until he is spent.
He has learned that we cannot always change things for those we love. Accepting that takes time and distance. Walking is how he works through what he cannot resolve, so he can be more available and grounded for the people he cares about. The television scene touched him because he had been doing what that man did long before seeing it on screen. Neither had a better option, and neither needed one. The man went into the wilderness for his daughter, and the writer walked to the edge of the Everglades for his. He concludes that we do not always have the answers, but we have the love, and we find ways to keep expressing it anyway. He thinks that might be the most human thing there is.
