Walking in the World

This week I finished reading Rebecca Solnit's Wanderlust, a book about the anthropology of walking. I bought it in the gift shop of a labyrinth site years ago, around the time I was starting to write my dissertation, and while it includes a section on labyrinths, it covers many other topics, including walking as politics, art, recreation, travel, and protest. The genius of this work lies in the way it takes a simple, everyday act and reveals how complex it really is when viewed through multiple lenses: scientific, poetic and literary, religious, sociological, legal, historical, and artistic.

As Ms. Solnit describes it, the history of walking can almost be seen as an analog of the history of human consciousness. There was a time when people simply walked to get from place to place, without necessarily thinking about it. When they did become conscious of walking as an act that could be indulged in for other than utilitarian reasons, it rose from the level of biological behavior to cultural phenomenon. A person might walk for enjoyment and the expression of individual freedom, as did the Wordsworths in the Lake District; in concert with others as an expression of social solidarity or political protest; for religious reasons, as in a pilgrimage, for reasons of health; or, in an especially self-conscious and highly evolved version of the act, as performance art.

Some of this may sound a bit frivolous or light-hearted, but underlying all of these various dimensions of walking is the fact that it is ultimately an expression of individual will. The author's exploration of the ways in which societies have attempted to limit where and when their citizens may walk reveals that there are reasons besides those of safety and order for imposing controls on this basic act. Especially intriguing, as Solnit points out, is the role public spaces play in facilitating or hindering the movement and assembly of citizens as participants in their government, especially when they are advocating for change.

Solnit mentions two cities as particularly conducive to citizen gatherings: San Francisco and Paris, both of which are known for vibrant street life, protest, and revolution. Especially enlightening was her consideration of Paris as it was during the Revolution (still a largely medieval city with many narrow streets and byways) and as it was post-Baron Haussmann (redesigned, with many wide, straight boulevards), both of which managed to accommodate a determined citizenry seeking social change. The fact that Parisians utilized the city streets to advantage both before and after the redesign says more about the ingenuity of the people than it does about the success of the government in controlling their behavior--but it's also true that cities can discourage people from moving about, assembling, and engaging in civic life, either by laws or design decisions.

I would have enjoyed a look at some of the American cities, such as Boston, that played a role in our own American Revolution. I do know that in its modern form Boston is a great city for pedestrians; I'm not sure what role its layout might have played in the events of the eighteenth century. It's certainly possible to argue that, based on events such as Occupy Wall Street and other recent protests, any city, even some of those Solnit deems less conducive to activism, can be transformed when people are motivated enough to hit the streets.

Of course, I read the book through the lens of my own experiences as a walker, which are largely centered on exercise, enjoyment, and the need to get from place to place (with an occasional foray into protest as well). And here, I'll make an admission: although I enjoy walking and hiking and have engaged in both in all kinds of weather, and although I have written a book on labyrinths, I'm not especially fond of labyrinth walking. I find labyrinths beautiful, but in actual practice they usually don't conform to my idea of pleasurable walking, being too narrow for the purpose, with too many awkward turns. If mobility and freedom are the chief pleasures of walking, labyrinths act to constrict that freedom, requiring you, if you stay within the lines, to curtail your movements to a predetermined path. I know that some people find this meditative and soothing, and I'll certainly allow that there are times this might be so, but when I set out to walk, I like the idea that I am the author of it, not the reader of someone else's signposts.

One of walking's great benefits is that, under most circumstances (unless you're a stair walker or something similar), you're required to keep your feet on the ground or close to it. It may seem too obvious to matter, but walking, by its very nature, encourages a mindset of groundedness, even if you're daydreaming, writing poetry, or solving mathematical problems while you're doing it. Your mind can roam at will, but your feet are still on the earth, and your view of things is similar to what it has always been for human beings, close to the ground, looking up at the trees and the sky. I rather like that aspect of it; all I ask for is sturdy shoes.

If you're interested in such questions as: How did humans become bipedal? What is a flaneur? Why do Jane Austen's heroines spend so much time walking outdoors? Is walking on a treadmill real walking? and Why would you spend three months walking across China to greet someone and then keep going? you will likely get much enjoyment from Solnit's book. She answers these and many other questions and may transform the way you think about walking.