Today I needed to get out of the house for a walk, despite the rainy, foggy weather we're currently having. Walking Gizmo around my childhood neighborhood, exploring the ways it has changed, has been a saving grace amidst all of the isolating and social distancing. Raincoat on, we ventured out into the quiet mist, walking along sidewalks, past few cars and not a single other pedestrian.
It's hard to keep the mind from wandering while on a solitary walk, and as my furry companion splashed in a particularly murky puddle, I had a flash of memory - a similarly beige-colored dog eagerly diving into a swampy pond on a long walk in another place and time.
Lifestyles between the U.K. and U.S. are quite different, no one needs reminding of that. But whenever I visit my dear friend Lynsey in her home up near the Peak District, I am reminded of how her lifestyle is nothing like my own. I found myself in that house of hers on New Years Eve 2017, after canceled plans and a heart on its way to broken. We spent the night with another friend, drinking and laughing and them explaining to me who Jools Holland is, and dancing until we were too exhausted to continue. In the grand scheme of things, it was one of the better New Years Eves I've ever had.
The next morning, Lynsey and I took her golden retriever for a long walk through a wooded area that ends at a small, tucked away cafe with heated outdoor seating and lovely sandwiches. The day was misty and cold, requiring a hat and a good coat, and walking shoes I'd not thought to pack. Instead I absolutely ruined a pair of ankle boots, caking them thick with mud. But all the damp cafe seats and squishy, destroyed shoes in the world couldn't take away how clear my head felt that day. Watching my friend's dog disappear between the trees before we heard a big splashing sound, hearing Lynsey's exasperated sighs at the prospect of driving a smelly swamp dog all the way home for a bath, helped me to leave my troubles behind. I could speak honestly to this person whose capacity not to judge me at my most vulnerable feels limitless. She offers hard truths - truths, in retrospect, I wish I'd had more ability to take to heart in that moment. But even in her most brutal honesty, she provided solace and a calm that is rarely replicated.
I envy that life, a life that includes long, thought-provoking walks in the woods, when I really think about it. No one's existence is perfect or without problems, and it would be cruel of me to suggest to you, dear reader, that my friend has never experienced the more devastating losses or tribulations this life can offer a person. But she has prevailed; she remains clever, strong, and loving, and welcomes me back into her home each time I travel across the sea. I truly believe there is no failed relationship, no stressful job, or financial mistake that cannot be calmly reevaluated on a walk through the woods with her and a swampy four-legged friend.
While out amongst the remarkably similar houses of Long Island, through the windy chill, I remembered how much sadness I brought with me all those years ago and miles away. I considered the weight I had allowed myself to carry and how much I had invested in a person and a situation that would never be returned to me. I thought about how the current global crisis weighs upon us all, and has given us perspective, continuing to highlight what is truly important to us. And I remember how vital a cloudy day walk can be to brush the cobwebs from the mind, and ready us to begin again.