Things I saw on my daily dog walk

Welcome to my little nook of the world.

Photo Essay No. 1: Things I saw on my daily dog walk

I love the place I live. I dream about other places sometimes, like anyone. But I’m happy here. It checks my boxes and then some. And that’s mostly because of the lake.

When we decided to move, I made it a point to live by a body of water. We lived by one before: Lake Merritt, in Oakland. Between that lake and living by the ocean in college, I got familiar with the positive effects of having something beautiful nearby at all times.

To be more concrete: I like having something unequivocally natural to look at, to walk around, to spatially ground me.

The lake does that. And so often, in the maze of a suburb, that’s absent.

The layout of my neighborhood is pleasantly weird. The midwestern preference for a grid layout is interrupted by the jellybean-shaped lake. That, and each house has a unique design.

Word is, long ago, the area was the offshoot of a country club. There’s a gigantic mansion by the lake’s main beach that acted as country club HQ (now it’s artists’ studios). The country club’s head honchos sold lots, I guess, and homeowners could build whatever kind of house they wanted. I wish I could have met the people who built the UFO shaped house down the street from us. Clearly, they were ahead of their time.

Alternatively, they could have been passionate alien lovers.

But wait.

Yeah, ahead of their time.

It’s on these walks that I do the bulk of my thinking.

At least, that’s how it feels.

For the first half of the day, I’m mostly occupied by doing stuff, whether it’s writing, work, editing a video, etc. But around five? I stop. I put on some solid shoes. I wrangle my dog. I stuff my pockets with his toys. I take a few puffs of THC. And I get the fuck out of the house.

Really, I have my dog to thank.

Sometimes I feel there’s just too much to do to get out before dark. Sometimes I don’t make it out. But always, getting out weighs on me, and not for my own sake. He sits by the window all day looking out the window, dramatically sighing from time to time.

I feel bad.

Even when I know how much I cherish these walks for personal reasons, it’s because of him that it’s a priority. So, it works out.

Usually, I’ll listen to a podcast while I walk. Not all the time, but a lot of the time.

How, then, can you think, dude? is what I imagine you’re saying.

I used to have the same reaction. But actually, it’s very easy.

Sometimes I think more, actually.

Not just any podcast will do, but the ones that pass the bar put me in a very interesting state. They present me with new ideas constantly. They make me feel goofy and playful. Often, they inspire me. And to me, that’s a gift.

Podcast or not, I end up jotting down notes in my phone or leaving voice memos, and that seems to be a solid metric pointing to the magic of these daily, four-mile walks.

The lake, and the other scenery, also plays its part. I don’t know if I could get into this mood walking down a busy street or within the confines of a gated community.

But maybe.

There’s also something interesting that happens when you walk in big loops a lot, I’ve found. Certain landmarks become associated with memorable ideas I had when walking past them. The route becomes a kind of vinyl record, and I’m the needle in the groove.

A certain shady area will remind me of a certain George Saunders story I read under a certain tree. A stretch of road will remind me of some topic I thought about three days before. And the park, when I get there, is where I always reach the height of my pedestrian bliss.

I’ll let Archer off the leash. Usually, the sun is setting. In less than ideal weather, there’s no one around, and the dog and I have the freedom to run, lay on the ground, or do whatever it is we feel like doing.

With warmer weather approaching, Archer and I are almost certainly going to be put out of our stomping grounds. Already, as we walked on this day, I had to be more careful about having him off the leash. There were more runners and walkers. There were some soccer and baseball teams having practice. There were disc golfers, a particularly problematic cohort when you have a dog who loves intercepting frisbees.

I get it. It’s beautiful weather, and it’s nice to see people enjoying.

But they should know.

This is our park.

The final section of our walk is the wind down, the cool down, where Archer is back on the leash and its more dark than light. About then I synthesize my thoughts, decide what to act upon and what to let go, prepare for the return home.

It’s a good thing, but it’s also not.