On the Move

I come from a family of walkers. Fast walkers with long legs and wide strides. I remember having to run by my mother’s side as a child, just to keep up with her.

Perhaps that’s why I always wanted to be on the move as a kid (and well into adulthood). I loved running, jumping, skipping and riding my bike for hours on end. No destination in sight. Just exploring.

When I was 19, I couldn’t run from the suburbs fast enough. I wanted to live in the heart of the city. I loved walking the streets of Montréal at all hours. The people, the constant movement, sights, sounds and smells inspired me.

I was drawn to the friction and chaos. I equated it with passion. I studied theatre and quite literally sought drama. I had an insatiable hunger. I wanted to feel everything. The depths of love and the deep aches of heartbreak. The city fed me. It made me feel alive.

I’ve lived in several cities throughout my lifetime, Montréal, Seville, London, Vancouver, Toronto and Los Angeles. I loved the cities I could walk in best. Always moving. Always seeking stimulation. Inspiration. Connection. Love.

But these cities also bred an insatiable longing, a deep loneliness and a sense of never being or having enough. Despite being surrounded by people, movement, sights and sounds 24/7 and despite having a wonderful and supportive group of friends, the city reminded me of all that I wasn’t and didn’t have. Consumer things, wealth, a constantly moving target of success, a relationship, a family.

When I made the move to the country my friends were concerned I’d get lonely and bored. That I’d miss the city and all it has to offer. I was a creative, after all, and a true urbanite. What was I thinking? I worried they might be right.

I still walk in the country, of course. But rather than striding along the concrete sidewalks of the city, my feet are on the giving earth, the limestone beaches, the sandy dunes or a soft bed of pine needles on the forest floor. And much as it appears quiet and still, there’s always movement and sound, if you stop, listen and just breathe it in. Birds flying, rabbits hopping, waves crashing, the breeze whistling through the trees, a farmer ploughing their field. My dog running freely.

For those who are curious, I don’t feel especially lonely or isolated (well I do on occasion, but much less so than I did in the city) and I don’t feel the constant pull for consumer things or distractions. The insatiable longing I’ve felt most of my life has dissipated and been replaced by a deep sense of acceptance and ease. And living in tune with the seasons/cycles of nature has awoken a sublime sense of awe.

I could never have imagined embracing a quieter, simpler life in my 20’s, 30’s or even my 40’s. But at 55, I love nothing more than sitting on my front porch with a fresh cup of coffee, my pup by my side, breathing in the fresh air and staring out into the expansive horizon.

Country walks with Hadley, Dec 2022 - drawing by Laila Ines Liokouras (my niece)