Henry David Thoreau wrote that he could not preserve his health and his sanity unless he spent four hours a day – at least – sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements. I’m not Thoreau, for sure, and he didn’t have e-mail, a farm, a blog and book deadlines, perhaps wisely. We all make our traps, and walk into them, just like we all get the dogs we need and thank fate for it.

I am addicted to walking, most often with Rose. She is the perfect companion. She stays to the side of the road, watches me closely, responds to hand signals, even whispers. Rose sniffs and scans the route, always conscious of where I am, always staying near, the working dog through and through. She frees me to think. I like Thoreau’s notion of sauntering, as I am in my sixth decade and my knees and toes and joints don’t like walking uphill for four hours in the cold. But they do love walking and so do I. It is beginning to have a profound, calming and centering impact on me in my long and purposeful work to quiet my mind and experience life, rather than ride it like a wild horse.

I am learning to accept life and experience it. Drama is fading from me, as is fear and anger. I can sniff a true spiritual life, a calm center, a sense of who I am. And when you know who you are, you also know who you are not. And that is profoundly satisfying.