How Walking Keeps Me Healthy, Physically, Mentally, Emotionally, and Spiritually

My daily walking route (Image courtesy of worldofmiri.com)

Including accessing a state of clarity

I cherish my morning walks. I live down the road from a National Park and within minutes I can be surrounded by Australian bush. It’s peaceful, calm, and filled with serenity. I ditched listening to music, audio books, and making phone calls long ago.

It’s just me and the bush.

Often, I get to witness animals: a wallaby staring at me while non-stop chewing on leaves, colorful birds like lorikeets or king parrots, black cockatoos, or lyrebirds with their enchanting songs. The one I always hear has a “camera shutter” in its repertoire. Is that still enchanting? I don’t know, but it is entertaining for sure! I don’t even list the white cockatoos anymore. They are around in abundance and their screeching wakes me every morning. On a side note: How can such a beautiful bird have such a hideous call?

My walks are dedicated “me-time”.

I have no distractions except my thoughts and how my body feels. I need this time to re-balance myself; physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Physical health

The physical part doesn’t need much explanation. I move my body. Walking keeps me fit and healthy. I used to run, but since my knee accident, I haven’t been able to start again.

The walk takes me through steep parts which get my heart rate going. Midway, I use a stone bench for stretching and push-ups. I know these are not the “real deal” because I push off the bench and don’t go all the way to the floor. But they still strengthen my core.

Mental health

This part is difficult. My mind runs on an endless, often mindless, chatter circuit. It’s not refreshing, and it is certainly not helpful. These thoughts don’t usually contain any important messages.

On my walks, I aim to calm down my mind and drop into a deeper state where I – well – don’t think. This is a beautiful state of clarity, connection, and peace. I wish I could be in this state all the time, but I haven’t reached that level of mastery yet.

When my mind notices that I want to drop into this state of clarity to simply be, it puts on a show. It throws everything at me, all with the goal of keeping me connected to its thought loop. For me, topics related to shame work especially well. “Remember twenty years ago, when you said you would send the photos and you never did?” or, “You really should have apologized and now this friendship is in shatters. All your fault. Just saying.” and so it goes on.

To get through this, I have to consciously focus on my breath and how it moves all the way into my belly and out again. The process feels like pushing through the seaweeds before reaching clear water. I keep going, as it can take anything between two to fifteen minutes. Often, I give up at the first or second attempt. I need to consciously remind myself of the beauty of the clear water and try again.

The benefit of reaching such a peaceful state is everything feels clear and makes sense.

In this state, I simply know what is important in my life right now.

By this, I mean really important, not all of the hundreds of details that pretend to be larger than life, such as:

Will our cat really like the new cat food?

What if he doesn’t?

Will it rain on the weekend?

Because if it does, I won’t be able to do laundry.

Do I need to do laundry today?

Explanation for people not living in Australia: It is almost impossible to dry the laundry when it’s pouring because the moisture moves into the house and into everywhere! And no, I do not believe in clothes dryers. The sun does a great job.

Emotional health

I use my walking time to release bottled-up emotions. Often, I start the walk with pain in my neck or shoulders, or with pressure in my chest, or rather, my heart space. I know there is no physical reason for this pain since I have learned to distinguish the different forms of my pain. This kind of pain is about emotions that need releasing. I know what is required, but I still need to master the courage of going into this. My mind tries to talk me out of connecting with the pain. Fair enough, it wants to protect me from feeling it. However, I know the only path to feeling great in my body is to move through the pain. It usually takes me at least fifteen minutes into my walking routine before I feel ready to brace for what is coming up. I shift my attention into the sore area and allow myself to breathe into it. Often, grief is behind the pain. Grief because I haven’t seen my parents in over two years because of the pandemic. Grief because of the state of the earth and all the drama that is unfolding. Grief because I can see my children growing up and one is getting ready to spread his wings and leave the house.

Not all of this is my grief, and I can ask for that part to be released. But a part always belongs to me. I need to open up to it and let it flow. I allow my tears to come and step into the center of the pain. Sometimes, it only takes a minute to dissipate. Sometimes it takes twenty minutes. But I commit to this practice every day.

I cry every day. It’s healing.

When a few days pass and I haven’t allowed myself to shed my tears, I feel pressure building. My tears press from the inside. They want to get out. They must.

I am proud of my daily crying routine. I suppressed my tears for most of my life; I guess I never wanted to dive into the abyss that seemed to beckon. Well, life forced me into it anyway. At the beginning of my healing journey, I often cried for two or three hours straight. It was utterly exhausting. But now, hundreds of hours of shedding tears later, I feel “only” what comes up in the moment. Releasing is faster.

Spiritual health

I love this part though I don’t always get here. When I do, I cherish it. This is when I have arrived in the present moment. I have let go of whatever I needed to, my mind is calm, my breathing is steady, and I move through life with utter clarity. In these moments, I can chat with my spirit guides and send out my prayers. I ask questions. I get answers. I get into a space of connection, and I receive “directions” on what I need to do, if anything. Often, I don’t need to do things, except “love my children”, “sing and dance”, “have fun with the cat”, or “admire the beauty around me”. I ask for healing, or balancing, or simply for help. Everything still of concern – the processes beforehand make sure only the relevant issues remain – I hand over by asking for guidance. This is how I pray. It is an informal chat, often humorous, but authentic. It rings true in my body.

Afterwards, when I get home, I feel refreshed and balanced on every level. And it’s time to act on whatever came up, like writing this article!

Thank you for reading!