
1. Nobody’s thinking about you…
2. Make young friends….
4. Get a Dog…
6. Everyone’s in pain…
9. On regrets…
— Roger Rosenblatt, excerpts from his Top 10 in “How to Be a Happy 85-Year Old (Like Me)” (NY Times, April 13, 2025)
I can't sleep…

1. Nobody’s thinking about you…
2. Make young friends….
4. Get a Dog…
6. Everyone’s in pain…
9. On regrets…
— Roger Rosenblatt, excerpts from his Top 10 in “How to Be a Happy 85-Year Old (Like Me)” (NY Times, April 13, 2025)

In this astonishing world, music itself raced through the morning stillness and, in a flash, was gone.
— Riku Onda, Honeybees and Distant Thunder (Translated by Philip Gabriel) (Pegasus Books, May 2, 2023)
DK photo at twilight this very chilly morning. See more pictures from this morning’s walk here.

We feel this restlessness; we lament our shrinking attention spans. But to focus on a relatively narrow question of technical measures of our attention span misses a deeper truth. The restlessness and unease of our times aren’t simply, in my experience, the vertigo of distraction and distractibility. No, that experience is itself a symptom caused by some deeper part of the unsettled self. The endless diversion offered to us in every instant we are within reach of our phones means we never have to do the difficult work of figuring out how to live with our own minds.
For many years I have, like an old man, taken a daily constitutional. I began in my early 20s, when I was a freelance writer, which meant working all day either at home or in coffee shops. I found it useful to go for a walk and clear my head. I’d go even on the bitterest days of a Chicago winter, when the wind slices at your face like a blade. I started doing this before the days of the smartphone and even before the days of podcasts on the iPod. During the walk I would just … think. I’d let my mind wander. Almost without exception, my best thinking happened on these walks. I would come back to my laptop, sometimes almost racing up the steps to my apartment, to get the thoughts down. […]
Daydreaming is a central experience of being alive and also a casualty of the attention age. Years ago, podcasts came to fill my ears during my walks, conditioning me to feel a little panicked without one. But as I’ve spent more time thinking about attention, I’ve begun to force myself to just walk and let myself be with my thoughts. I’ve also developed a set of routines, habits and hobbies that can provide the framework for a form of modified idleness, just enough to focus on to keep myself rooted and present while allowing my mind to wander. Chopping wood, making handmade pasta, going to the dog park with my canine-obsessed 6-year-old — these are all in the happy but endangered category of things to do that are neither work nor looking at my phone. […]
You can’t busy yourself out of boredom or amuse yourself out of it. Neither work nor constant entertainment provides a solution. Not for the king or for us. The problem we face is existential and spiritual, not situational. We cannot escape our own mind; it follows us wherever we go. We can’t outrun the treadmill. Our only hope at peace is to force ourselves to step off whenever we can. To learn again to be still.
— Chris Hayes, from “I Want Your Attention. I Need Your Attention. Here Is How I Mastered My Own.” (NY Times, January 3, 2025)
Notes:

Happiness is getting up and going downstairs in the morning, opening all the doors and petting the dogs, walking around the garden and along the wooden pier in the cool morning air and listening to the crows and the chirping of all the other birds as you wait for the water for your tea to boil in the kitchen.
— Orhan Pamuk, “Memories of Distant Mountains: Illustrated Notebooks, 2009-2022.” Translated by Ekin Oklap. (Knopf, November 26, 2024)
Notes:

4:00 am. Friday morning. I’ve been watching the clock since 1:30 a.m, drifting in and out of light sleep.
“Racing thoughts. Reduced need for sleep. Exaggerated sense of self. Irritability…Obsessive rumination.” — Cory Richards
Wally, has been restless all night too, probably for biological reasons I’m sure. He refused to go outside before bed – it was drizzling. Our Wally, loves water, hates rain. Go Figure. He loves splashing in baby pools, clomping along shorelines and muck, and best of all, puddles. I watch him veer right and left on the park path, splashing through puddles from the overnight rains. Think toddler with big rubber boots.
And here we are, 1,557 consecutive (almost) days in a row on this daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
Susan and Eric left on a road trip for Grandma’s birthday. Wally watched me leave for the park that same morning looking terrified: Not going to be left Home Alone again. No sir.
Continue reading “Walking. With Free Bird.”