The Walk

Twice a year I get an animalistic urge to walk.
Not just any walk.
To walk like a rock star.

Out of the blue one day, just, "BOOM!"
Start walking without stopping.

In my mind, I always go East.
I just leave my house in Everett out of the blue one day and start walking down the street.
Street after street, maybe just seeing how far I can go in one day.
It gets dark, and either I hitch a ride or make a fort in the woods.
It gets really real for a minute, as the reality of life stares me down like a dare.
A double dare.


Was that it?  Was that the big adventure?  The walk of my lifetime?
Of course not.
I keep going.

The terrain changes as my feet blister.
I get really serious with myself about what my purpose is.
My curiosity talks to my sensible side smoothly,
assuring him we're on the right track.

The excitement of it all starts to wear off after a few days.
I'm convincing myself more with each step.
I can't go back now.

The more I ache, and am irritated with the growing difficulty of this stupid listless jaunt; as my quality of life diminishes steadily down the needs hierarchy, the more determined my stride becomes.
As my discomfort climaxes,
the scales fall off my eyes.
I'm walking through Idaho now,
probably eating a potato.
I made it to another state,
and my state of mind has, too.

I start looking around,
and I start seeing my surroundings.
There's a new presence in my energy,
and everything is really simple but vibrant.
I'm at peace with the world,
and the deepest parts of my being.
I smile, genuinely.
The most genuine smile I've smiled in a while.

I keep going,
I keep walking.
East, East,
beyond the land I know.

As if unknown lands will change me.
I end up in New York City every time.
It feels weird in the big city.
Lots of agendas all around me.
I look at the people as they pass me by,
they don't know where I've come from.

I look at the guy lying on the bench with no shoes,
The only one who may pay me any mind.
I look back across the street,
back to the busyness of the world that doesn't understand where I've come from.
I fixate there, and as I count yellow taxi cabs and admire nice shoes,
I wonder how I could get them to see me?

The only one who notices me is that no nothing man on the bench over there,
and I don't feel comfortable talking to him.
I just don't know where he has been.