It’s becoming a weekly practice on Mondays to walk this loop that I simply call “the long loop” with Ernest. I wrote about this same loop walk here.
Yesterday, we were making our way down and three women were making their way up the same street. I hadn’t seen them before. We chatted for a moment, them remarking how good of a dog Ernest was being as he was sitting right next to me so we could give them space to walk past. I chose to chuckle internally to myself as compliments about Ernest are now the most common exchange I encounter in my every day.
They seemed to be enjoying one another’s company quite a lot and they made their way up the hill as we made our way down. As space expanded between us all, they were considering among themselves if Ernest was part husky and what other breeds he had in him.
Ernest and I kept on our path, me chatting with two human neighbors and Ernest sniffing and chatting with two dog neighbors (one he hadn’t seen in a long while so there were some catch-up sniffs and tail wags that needed to take place).
We sat in the park at an old wharf for a short bit and then ambled our way, taking in the Puget Sound waves below. We passed a frozen rabbit that I most definitely saw and Ernest most definitely didn’t, which was surprising.
Making their way down the hill path now, were the three women again. They had done “our” long loop in reverse to what we were doing. It was a simple joy to reconnect with them, they finally got to inquire about Ernest’s breeds.
“We’re long-distance walkers” one of them shared matter-of-factly and with a lilt of pleasure in her voice.
“We go on a different walk together every Monday,” another woman shared.
One with bright white hair just like my mother’s shared more about their full path for the morning. I figured it was about three to four miles, myself and Ernest having walked to those same intersections many times, too.
“It seems like you enjoy long walks, too.” She remarked.
“I’ve definitely come to really enjoy them,” looking upon Ernest and nodding towards him.
We wished one another well and went on our respective ways. As we moved our bodies up the hill, I asked Ernest if we were “long-distance walkers.” We don’t need a label for what we do together and I hadn’t ever considered it before.
Sometimes maybe it’s nice to put a name, a title, an exclamation, a shape to what our every day is.
Is there some type of practice that is so naturally a part of you and your every day that it’s hard to see it for what it really is? Maybe putting a name to it would feel nice?
Maybe that name or label would invite you to feel connected to others, strangers who you pass by, who are doing the same thing in their own way?
Til next time,
Cassandra