Walking to Be Grounded

When I came home from work last night, I did this slightly odd thing that I occasionally do when I'm feeling slightly disjointed and untethered from myself. I walked through each of the rooms in my house that had open doors, pausing to touch an item in each room that carries a special memory for me, a moment that holds love and happiness, laughter and warmth. It usually takes only a few minutes to do, this walk-through of my house that grounds me again. The items are sometimes photographs, the tigers, my favorite books, notes, or cards; it's never anything that would have meaning or value to anyone other than myself or those who were involved in the memory. I find that it gives me a sense of calmness.

Last night, as I made it to the final room on this round trip -- the kitchen -- I felt the need to keep walking. I told myself that I was going to walk across the street to the grocery store, that that would be the final destination I needed for the night. I took the long way to the grocery store, bypassing the usual shortcuts to get me through the front door quicker. My earbuds were in as I listened to a mix of different songs on whatever Pandora station seemed to grip me. But I walked beyond the grocery store, farther into the comfort of the busy streets that are crammed with some of my favorite restaurants and bars, the place where I was married. And I just kept walking. It was one of those moments that we all have at some point, the wonder of What if I just keep walking? How far could I get? Who would I meet? How long before I was missed? 

And it made me think about what might be the soundtrack of my life. I love music, but I'm horrible at associating musicians with their songs. I also have a hard time picking just one artist to listen to; I like a wide range of songs and genres. Pop, Oldies, Swing, Jazz, Indie Rock, Rap. I suppose that's why, back in the day when people still purchased cassette tapes and CDs, I found myself always buying the actual movie soundtracks. High Fidelity, You've Got Mail, Swing Kids, Can't Hardly Wait. Even my soundtrack selection had a range that didn't necessarily align quite right.

As I turned back home last night, I found myself searching for a different song to listen to. My walk had started with me listening to the Indie Rock station on Pandora, but I found myself flipping over to listen to Caravan of Thieves. My friend and I had gone to see them perform at The Arc in Ann Arbor a few weeks ago, and they were phenomenal. Their song, Raise the Dead, seemed perfect for the walk home: a slightly cool, slightly foggy November evening. Who would I bring back from the dead if given the opportunity to, and what would I want to tell them? More than likely one of those loved ones in the photos that I often touch as I try to ground myself, my sentimentality outweighing the desire to meet and speak with one of the great thinkers, dreamers, or innovators of all time.

When I finally made it home last night, I'm not sure if I felt as balanced as I hoped I would, but I felt  lighter, almost translucent. As if the walking had brought me back to an understanding that I know I've been hoping to find.