Walking Thoughts

Often when I am walking to school, or walking Harper, thoughts pop into my head like I am narrating my thoughts. It sounds like Meg Ryan’s and Tom Hanks’s characters in You’ve Got Mail as they write to each other. Their conversations start in the middle and are full of little profound observations like:

Do you know that Joni Mitchell song? ‘I wish I had a river I could skate away on?’ It’s such a sad song, and not really about Christmas at all, but I was thinking about it tonight as I was decorating my Christmas tree, unwrapping funky ornaments made of Popsicle sticks and missing my mother so much I almost couldn’t breathe.

Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail

Here are just some of the random thoughts I have had recently:

• I used to be tall. I used to feel like I towered over people but now I feel squat and small and sometimes, invisible.
• The wind is blowing like there is a change coming The leaves are swirling around in a chaotic dance and there is a kind of electricity in the air. The shrieks of the children always get a little more shrill in this kind of weather, like they are being whipped up for a tiny revolution. It is exciting. It is unsettling. Things are happening.
• I am so tired of worrying about the future. The world is such a scary place sometimes with endless conflicts and so much hate, vitriol and hostility in the news. The concept of community feels non-existent. Perhaps the only remedy is to focus on the present and rather than feel guilty for our blessed and charmed life, I can simply enjoy it. In 2024, I want to continue my quest for connection and I want to feel more connected to our community.
• Society seems to be crumbling – young people are being let down in such a colossal way and yet the world seems blind to it. Education is woefully underfunded; children are being raised by iPads and video games. And then we wonder why some struggle to concentrate or learn.
• Sometimes I can feel completely overwhelmed by the beauty of nature: the way the light filters through the trees; the gentle slopes of the Warwickshire hills; the changing colour of the trees. After remarking on that, I am often then left wondering why our human minds are so captivated by something which is just a natural fact. Why do we feel so good outside? What evolutionary advantage is there for us to gaze on a stunning landscape and feel genuine joy? It is a mystery.