Mindful walking: Wilmington, NC

Written after I decided to leave full time employment in favor of a happier life…

Most days find me beginning my solitude with a second more leisurely cup of coffee in the company of my lounging dogs and cat (the first being gulped while attempting to get out the door to my son’s school). I make it a point to finish my sipping by nine so that I can head out for a walk before the day’s Southern temperatures climb. My greatest pleasure is contained in this hour of the day as I revel in the pure enjoyment of being outside instead of trapped and confined in a drear office. It is an illicit sensation–the feeling of playing hooky, of not being where the rest of the world is, of refusing to buy into the preordained and mandatory destination of work. I have a repertoire of routes that are rotated through; my current favorite destination being a nearby cemetery that contains prior residents of Wilmington dating back into the eighteenth century. Feeling the presence of these people and their long ago lives, loves and tragic losses is intriguing to me. So many babies–I can hardly imagine the parents’ grief at losing so many. The cemetery itself is a beautiful sanctuary of solitude, dappled sunlight and twisting paths that entice me around each next bend. I enjoy pausing on a wooden bridge over a languid stream. As I watch the bubbles percolating up from the muddy bottom, the mosquitoes hovering above the water and the small silent fish idling in it, I think to myself, “No one on earth is witnessing this save for me.”

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One thought on “Mindful walking: Wilmington, NC

  1. Funny the illicit sensation of playing hooky. I felt that a lot when I stopped working outside the house. You feel like you shouldn’t, but then after a few years you find out that all these people who glorify busy do not really care one way or the other about what you do and don’t do. That was a huge lesson for me.
    Also, re the kids graves – my BFF and I used to go and clean up old children’s graves when we were teens because they were obviously not being visited anymore and we felt bad. so we made bouquets out of the discarded flowers at the cemetery’s compost heap and weeded around the stones. It became a tradition.

    Like

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