You're Allowed To Walk In The Park By Yourself
You can just sit there, nobody can stop you.
I wanted something easy to write amongst all the myriad, traumatic “personal essay” pieces I’ve been writing, but plan to submit outside of Substack. This felt (relativelty) safe, fun, and has been on my mind for some time. Enjoy!
For much of my life, walking has been a sole sense of providing purpose and reprieve, allowing my thoughts to disperse evenly across the table of my mind, able to see those thoughts clearly for what they are. While situated in Raleigh, North Carolina, during the pandemic, I was lucky enough to have entire empty neighborhoods and streets to myself, often listening to new music, old music, and the breaking news about our state of the world, as people dared to step outside.
My walking “energy” has been compared to that of a retired old man, walking in the morning and in the evening, just to unwind. Walking reaches back through my entire life, as a vessel to explore new cities and often reckon with the black ball of chaos known as feelings… As if during these moments, I was unraveling a ball of string, end to end, to smooth it out, to find connections and meaning within my thoughts. A literal grounding feeling as feet hit the pavement.
My favorite walks are those by myself, with my thoughts and/or music, to guide me in any direction I please. Sometimes if I’m clueless on the destination, I’ll let the crosswalk make a decision for me, following through on through the striped lines, or taking a left or right if the glare of the orange hand is prevalent. Sometimes I’m circling the block for ages, stuck in the hell I’ve created for myself.
A few months ago, though, I had to relearn how to walk (by myself).
My partner was visiting their mother in Massachusetts, bringing the dog along for the 3 hour train trip. I stayed behind to hold down the fort and work on my writing.
For the dog, this time is a sanctuary away from her studio apartment “prison”, free to roam and frolic within the forests and fields of Western Mass. We often joke about the dog’s transformation into a completely different animal when outside the boundaries of NYC, especially when compared to the stark contrast of her demeanor upon returning - similar to the post-vacation blues many of us encounter after our vacation high has dissipated from our bodies.
For myself, I was now relieved of my typical dog-father bound duties. I was bound to no literal beast, no cooking dinner for anyone but myself (pb&j anyone?), nor any scheduled tasks sprinkled in throughout the day. This now free time was met with a sigh of relief; a release of the responsibility juggle. My possible future was now flooding with limitless possibility, as I felt free to roam amongst the sidewalks and ferries of New York City because, “Oh yea, I’m an adult and can do anything I want.”
(Well, there was still the cat to take care of. Although the cat only bothers you during times of insatiable hunger, or if you’re on the toilet. Otherwise, they’re just a ghost in your own home whose tail you occasionally step on accidentally.)
During the first full day to myself, my morning began simply with some writing/editing, and the occasional house chore thrown in when I hit a snag in writing. But post-lunch, I found myself a bit at odds with what to do next, my routine disrupted now with the departure of one specific furry animal.
You see, this would typically be the time high-pitched voices are used to coax the dog out of her crate to greet the outside world for another walk. Instead, I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, a bit perplexed on what to do with myself, attempting to grapple with the philosophical question of if the leash was meant for controlling the dog, or for my own control.
The freedom of having the place to myself now felt like a trap, set in the walls of my own construction.
After bouncing around in this loop of multiple choices for a few minutes, it occurred to me the easiest solution would be to just go for a walk by myself. Dogless.
But another wall appeared - without the dog around, I felt as though my excuse for walking “myself” was a bit empty, as though I hadn’t earned the right to do so in the first place, gating myself in some arbitrary rule or goal of what counted or didn’t count as a successfully earned walk.
The wheel spun once again, but finally broke when I had the self-actualization to realize that the walk would benefit my breaking of the cycle in the first place. Plus, new albums in my music library were beckoning to be ingested.
The anxiety is real, y’all.
While walking along the perimeter of Prospect Park along Prospect Park West (originality to the finest degree), I steered myself into the park proper at the Bandshell entrance of 11th st. As I meandered my way past the playground, the sounds of innocent and zero-responsibility holders (also known as children) creating a high-pitched symphony, I saw a neighborhood friend of mine with his dog.
Immediately, I froze up without at first understanding why. We often only see each other in the park, with our dogs. But as my conscious mind caught up with my subconscious, here in this instance, I felt naked. Dogless. I felt like I didn’t belong. As though he caught me within a web of lies. “Well, now you see me for who I really am… Just a bunch of rabid squirrels burying nuts in a man’s body.”
And here my neighborhood friend was, a productive member of society who walks his dog in between the minutes of his job, when a break is given out like soup in a Charles Dickens novel.
Since I had eyes on him first, I had the opportunity to backtrack into another direction, absorbed by the crowd of strollers and accompanying parents, or face social interaction amongst my already anxious mind.
Forgetting to actually stop and pause my feet while trying to decide, I led myself in his direction. Forced social interaction won.
The first words out of his mouth after we acknowledged each other with a wave was “Walking in the park by yourself?!”, continuing how he didn’t recognize me without the dog. I confided in him how weird I felt without an animal attached to my hip, as though I’m bringing attention to myself or will get caught by the park police for suspicious behavior. He laughed, saying he felt the same sometimes, as though you’re not allowed in the park without a reason, a purpose.
Even within our conversation of feeling seen, the spotlight on the issue now, existed a trembling of uneasy nature. Even if I could reckon with this feeling of nakedness - exist in its presence - would that change anything? Like, hey everyone, I found the problem, so shouldn’t everything be ok now? Why was I still feeling like I didn’t belong? Was there something deeper underneath all this “nakedness”?
Lately, it’s been difficult to remind myself that I can walk anytime I want, as a grown adult, and I don’t have to be set to a specific time surrounding the dog. Walking by myself is something I’ve done a millions times before, but in this moment of walking in Prospect Park without the dog, I felt amnesic to its instruction. My conditioning had been influenced by the schedule of the furry beast.
It’s something my therapist and I have spoken on in the past, especially when it comes to my relationship to the dog. Sure, I could take a walk by myself, but also it would be a lot easier if I brought the dog along - killing two birds with one stone. But then my therapist reminds me the intention of the walk has changed from being about stress relief or relaxing to sacrificing my own time to aid someone else.
Which feels so ridiculous, right? In all my moments of therapy, which I pay for using my earned American credit, we chose to speak on my relationship with a dog. Sometimes the humor pieces write themselves.
I felt similarly while first moving to Park Slope, recently let go from an operations role with a “alternative milk” start-up for talking shit about how unhealthy these alt options are (the unhealthy part is true, but in reality they hated me).
After the general shame of being laid off was shaken, I saw my current situation as a blessing. The previous year was spent intently focused on distraction rather than letting myself grief the loss of my mother, who passed the January prior. Finally, I could take some time to care for myself, and maybe seek some sort of new direction in my life.
But my freedom was a double edge sword. Bumping up against the darker side of all this free time was this inclination to use this time “wisely”, to not let it go to waste. Because when would this opportunity ever appear again?
But also, I was fighting my shame of being “jobless”, as though everyone could see the words written across my face. Every place I ventured outside the hours of 9-5 during my unemployed stint felt as though prying eyes were on me, wondering why I was “out & about” while everyone was slaving away to the corporate overlords. I could offer myself no grace to just “be”.
Of course, the spotlight effect is often blinding and a significant perpetrator in this scenario. This phenomenon that everyone, everywhere is taking notice of our appearance, leading to extreme social anxiety. The reality? Often people don’t notice, or even care. The zit on your forehead may look and feel gigantic, and while riding the subway you may feel like all eyes on your honkin’ red pimple, but in reality, people are too focused on their own appearance (or zits) to give a shit about yours.
When my partner took off for Massasschuttes with the dog, it’s as though this cycle began again. When would this opportunity to be “alone” without responsibility come through again? Visions of my writing flowing to the screen without distraction filled my head like a dream. Now, dogless, I could finally be productive! With the distractions of the general bathroom use and hunger of another animal alleviated, I could spend all that time focused, intent on pushing my writing out. This pressure insisted upon myself suddenly festered and grew, flooding my decision making.
So what’s the true issue? Why was I feeling this way? Was it a loss of schedule or routine? Or again, something much deeper?
A large majority has to do with productivity, and feeling productive, more than anything else. With the dog in tow, out in the world I’m seeing as a functioning, capable, participant of society. If someone were to call out to me and ask “What are you doing out here in the park when you should be doing [insert some capitalist task]?” I can faithfully answer “Well, you see here, is a 4 legged animal attached to this rope which I am holding, and it requires exercise!” “Ah, yes, one of those ‘dogs’ I have heard so much about… Carry on!”
But woof, traveling in the park alone? What’s my purpose? Self-care? A break from unemployment? Without the dog, I’m nothing, a non-productive member of society. It’s again written across my face. Digging deeper it all comes down to this tickling sensation of this incessant need to feel “productive” - to feel as though every ounce of my time is spent doing something that is valuable to society. Which, I know logically is completely unfair, but the separation in my mind is blurry and difficult to discern.
How much of this is in direct correlation to my current situation of trying to grow my writing career, teamed with living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. As though my self-doubts are anthropomorphized, they say to me “Ha ha ha, what are you doing here? You know you cannot survive in this city! You can fight all you want, but you must BE someone if you want to live here!” And I scream back “I was someone! I am someone!” and they just laugh in my face, telling me “That was the past! Right now, you are not!”
Imposter syndrome is such a fun time.
When I’m walking the dog on a bright sunny morning, no matter the time of year, there are often a group of folks relaxing on benches, reading or just closing their eyes and absorbing those beautiful harmful UV rays.
Walking past them, the voice in my head is often judgmental: “Go to work! Do something! Why are you here?” but this is only a projection and reflection of my own self. But in reality, these people have reached peak tranquility; they’ve escaped the cruel hands of capitalism, if only for a few minutes, to bask in the red hot fury of our sun.
But how much I crave those few minutes on the bench. How I wish I could relax and enjoy the time spent in the sunshine, instead of making it feel like a productively timed task. My inner child is screaming “Why can’t we do the same? Why do we have to adhere to such strict guidelines and rules that you yourself instilled?”
My judgment is no other than pure envy, asking them the question of “How can you afford to do this?” and/or “Can you show me your ways?”. Maybe they’ve built it into their schedules, or maybe they’ve been able to separate themselves from the borders of a constricting society.
I often remind myself I can do the same. I can finish walking the dog, and sit on the bench. Read on the bench. Listen to music on the bench. Or just exist. On the bench.
No one is stopping me but my own anxiety and belief system. Fighting these pre-existing entities is difficult; discussing them is much easier. Making a decision is debilitating some days.
This is all a work in progress. An attempt to return to my old days of walking with fever with no destination in mind. With each walk I take by myself now - which, I still have to remind myself to do - little by little I’m chipping away at the sediment of guilt-driven productivity, revealing the bedrock of relaxation.
Remember, you’re allowed to walk in the park by yourself - with, or without a dog! And as my therapist tells me, your inner child will thank you.