Most of my townsman would fain walk sometimes, as I do, but they cannot. No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and independence which are the capital in this profession [of Walking]… You must be born into the family of Walkers. Ambulator nascitur, non fit. Some of my townsmen, it is true, can remember and have described to me some walks which they took ten years ago… but I know very well that they have confined themselves to the highway ever since, whatever pretensions they may make to belong to this select class.
-Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”
November is the last month that I’ll be living in Natick. On December 1, Mr. Pinault and I are moving to a spacious two-bedroom in a town on Boston’s posh periphery that boasts urban perks like walkable main streets. Celebration! My household is a continual source of joy, but I do not hesitate to call the past year and 3 months of living in Natick a failure.
Natick is a sprawling middle-class suburb not unlike the one in Pennsylvania where I grew up. Age has given me enough wisdom to be able to articulate my dislike for suburban living in a manner untinged by teenaged angst: Walking is not pleasurable. (15-year old Meredith would liken the suburbs to a prison where all the other inmates are gleeful Earth-raping oil and money addicts who delight in their solitary confinement from global reality and moral imperative).
I find cheer and therapy in purposeful walking, but the suburbs makes it difficult, not only because of prohibitive distances, but because it’s just not meant to be done. Who wants to walk on a sidewalk or, more likely, on the side of a road amid cigarette butts, coffee cups, and squirrel guts while speeding SUVs with tinted windows whiz by at 50 mph? It’s stressful. It’s demeaning. It’s scary. The only option is to drive to a dedicated path specifically meant for exercise.
Walking is human. It’s what we evolved to do. It defines us physically and mentally as a species. It keeps us and our planet healthy. Walking is freedom. It’s not having to rely on oil cartels, the automobile industry, or taxpayer-funded public transportation in order to procure a load of bread. Walking is relaxing. It allows us to slow down and regard other pedestrians in recognition of our common humanity.
I can’t wait to leave Natick and its steel-encased citizenry, and get back to the urban sidewalks! Should I ever move back to the suburbs, it’s probably because my legs fell off.
