Why a walk and not a journey?

I've been wanting to capture and remember (and perhaps share) stories from my parenting experience - inspired by the ups and downs, the ordinary and the extraordinary - for a long time. My initial idea was to call this life-changing and profound experience a journey. But, then it occurred to me that a "journey" usually signifies a beginning and an end, or at least with a goal of reaching a destination. That didn't feel right. I entered into a life-time contract with my children when I became a parent. There's a beginning for sure … but not an end. I can feel that my parents still want to know what I'm up to, want to hear my voice, want to see me, want the best for me, want me to be happy. As a parent of young children, these are the same wants I have and imagine I will continue to have as my little ones grow up. After much pondering … it came to me … this is about a walk.

Why a walk? As I thought deeply about this, I realized that as a parent, I want to walk with my kids - in both the literal and the metaphorical sense. Literally, I hope to be taking walks of all lengths and sorts with my kids. Buddy is 4.5 and Little Guy is 2.5 now. Currently our walks (for these two, it's usually a run) can be from the bedroom to the living room, from our apartment down to our car where we stop and look for snails in the common area planters, or a stroll on the nearby bike-path or a hike in a park. Lots of things happen on these walks - running back and forth with glee between my bedroom and the living room, counting the number of snails we can find on the way to our car, stopping to look at fallen flowers and leaves on the bike path, checking out weird insects during a hike. Most importantly, feeling connected as a family and sharing experiences. It is through these walks that I get to know and learn about them … what they are like in different situations and context, and how I might best support them and enrich their experiences. In a metaphorical sense, a walk feels more appropriate and almost more real because it can describe so many experiences - beyond the physical. Emotionally and spiritually, I imagine being their companion in these walks. This started even when they couldn't walk to now, when they are off running the minute their feet hit the ground outside. They still want to hold hands a lot … want me nearby, want to hear my voice, want to see that I see them in the simplest of activities (e.g., drawing, singing and dancing, going to the bathroom). I imagine one day, not far from now, they will still want me "walking" alongside with them but maybe not too close … definitely not holding hands, especially when their friends are within sight. Soon after that, and probably without anyone of us noticing (but hopefully I will be mindful enough to notice this change), they will ask me to stay back, to walk behind, to be there but not be there. So, I'll walk behind them … just watching but at the ready if they need me. After a while, they might even forget that I'm there. But, I'll always be there … if they want to know, all they have to do is turn around and I'm there. 

I used to take afternoon and evening walks with my grandparents. Often times, my sister and I would run ahead. But, we always knew where my grandparents were in relation to us. Grandfather walked faster so he was always just a few steps behind. Grandmother usually lagged behind Grandfather a good 10-15 steps. As she tries to keep up the pace, we would hear her shout at us to stop running. Something about this knowledge was comforting. As I got older, I would stay back with Grandmother to keep her company because I thought she might get lonely. Although we often didn't talk much, through these walks I saw a softer side of my Grandmother … a side that didn't show as much in the day-to-day. Through these walks, my sister and I built a life-long bond with our grandparents … something we both remember even after they've gone.