Zen and the Art of Shoulderwalking

October 15, 2013

Zen and the Art of Shoulderwalking*

                                               * with apologies to Robert M. Pirsig

         

          The self-improvement program I began two and a half years ago was not my first attempt.  During the thirty-three years of my career, I started some diet program or exercise regime at least once a week.  Some would last for several weeks or months; most didn’t make it through the end of the first day.

          While trying to balance the demands of my career, childrearing, and housekeeping, any attempts to exercise more or eat better were simply additional tasks that went on a “to do” list I grudgingly struggled to complete.  Eventually, they became abandoned, unchecked items on that list, just another self-condemning indication, like the size of my thighs, of my failure.

          When I did exercise, my focus was always on getting through the experience as quickly--because there were always a thousand other demands to tend to--and painlessly as possible. Exercise was a burdensome task I didn’t want to dwell on.  I continued with that same attitude when I began walking on the shoulder of the road.  Initially, I listened to audiobooks as I walked and then changed to a music playlist.  Regardless of what was playing in my ear, my goal was the same --- to try to mentally remove or distract myself from what I was doing.  That attitude, I discovered, was my mistake.

          Any familiarity I have with Zen comes completely from pop culture. Scenes of serenely smiling, robed masters dispensing pearls of ancient wisdom from cloud-enshrouded mountaintops or comical attempts to “be the ball” come to mind when I consider what I supposedly know about Zen. While I’ve never studied the philosophy and, admittedly, my sources of information have been skewed by the media, I do think I’ve uncovered some nuggets of beneficial information.

          One of the most accessible Zen concepts to understand focuses on mindfulness, being present in the moment.  Philosophers tell us the past is unchangeable and the future is unknowable; in order to experience life abundantly, therefore, the present should have our complete attention.  On the shoulder of the road this concept translates into concentrating on the walk, to embracing all aspects of my daily stroll, the pleasant and unpleasant alike…..and, perhaps even more than merely accepting all aspects of the walk, I’m expected to revel in them.   

          In the last few months, in particular, I’ve been working on that reveling, on taking delight in all elements of my exercise routine.  Rather than grouse about the heat of summer days, I’ve tried to soak up the warmth and think about its benefits.  When the day is gray and cloudy, I focus on the positive aspects of a shadier walk and the relief of receiving some rain.  Whether it’s the scores of cars streaming past me or the miles of black asphalt I travel on, I’ve attempted to find the uniqueness of each seemingly similar walk, to find some enjoyment in each day’s journey.

          Reveling in the walk’s physical demands has proved more challenging.  In his magnificent poem, I Sing the Body Electric, Walt Whitman catalogues, in great detail, the parts of the human body down to eye lashes and finger joints, but not only does he enumerate body parts, he celebrates and rejoices with awe and wonder at the delight of being a human being, with heart pumping, lungs filling, eyes to see, and mouths to sing.  My aching knees, swollen feet, and painful back hardly seem to be sources of jubilation, but, when I use the discomfort to remind me that my body is strong, moving and working as it should, the appreciation for how I’m made and the privilege of being able to exercise comes.

          Whether my approach to embracing my daily stroll seems influenced by Zen philosophy, the count your blessings admonition of my Christian upbringing or, even, the cotton candy teachings of Pollyanna, I’m attempting to find the extraordinary in my ordinary routine which reaches the same finish line every day.  The larger lesson is, of course, abundantly clear; all of us---all of us---are headed to the same ultimate destination. Our mindfulness and celebration of this one trip we get will determine how much we enjoy ourselves along the way.