Walking

Parker Palmer, writer and teacher, writes of enduring a long, serious depression where he struggled to keep alive. He saw his depression as an enemy. His therapist surprised him by asking, “You seem to look upon depression as the hand of an enemy trying to crush you. Do you think you could see it instead as the hand of a friend, pressing you down to ground on which it is safe to stand?” At first he was offended with this idea, but eventually, he saw that it held a key for him. As an academic, he lived too much in his head. Even his religious life was abstract and heady. He needed to be pushed down to the safety of the ground. I’ve never experienced the despair described by Palmer, but I relate to his metaphor. Walking is a voluntary decision to touch the ground. I remember telling a colleague at school that I walked the eight-mile round trip to work once a week. “You must be very mentally healthy,” he commented. I make no claims to exceptional mental health, but I know on emotionally ragged days, walking calms and soothes me. Over and over, I touch my feet to the ground where it is safe to stand (Let Your Life Speak by Parker Palmer, 66).