The Joys of Walking

Each day for over 3 months I walked 5-6 miles as a regular part of the culture of London. At first it felt unrelenting and painful, almost unfair, why do we have to walk this much when then city of London has one of the greatest public transportation systems in the world? For a few weeks, I spent a great amount of time mapping out my route to include buses and tubes to avoid the excessive walking. And yet, it did not seem to matter what I did, walking was the norm. Eventually, however, I came to tolerate it and finally to love it. Walking London was life, and the joy I felt from walking was impenetrable.

But upon my return to Texas, I stopped walking. My truck smiled when I got in it again and seemed to enjoy my presence, to which I responded in kind by accommodating its happiness. In other words, I returned to my non-walking, drive everywhere world. But I missed my walking world.

Granted, I am a runner of sorts--nothing extreme really, just 3-5 miles every other day. Sometimes more sometimes less. In fact, a run of more than 5 miles leaves me chair bound the rest of the day. Walking any distance at all after running 6 or 7 miles results in pure pain in all parts of the body. Yet, in spite of the running, I felt generally unhealthy due to the sedentary lack of walking. Running is a focused physical activity, not intended for casual contemplation of the joys of the world. Walking is more contemplative, relaxed, and holistic. Yet my Texas life is one of driving without walking, of looking through glass, of changing the radio station, and of searching for parking places. None of the activities are especially satisfying.

Deliberating on this problem, I am now trying a new approach to transportation. I am parking my truck a considerable distance from the target goal, whether that be a grocery store, the postoffice, the bank, or work. And the practice is paying off in ways I least expected. Perhaps it is the hat (few people wear hats other than baseball caps) or perhaps it is the computer case that is often hanging from my shoulder, or perhaps it is just the sight of somebody walking, but for whatever reason, my walking is gaining friendships. Cars slow down (shocking, I know), some honk, most people wave, and I often hear people tell me they saw me crossing the street or walking across the parking lot. Is walking a social engagement of some kind?

Yes it does take a little more time to get places now, and yes I have a harder time convincing those who travel with me of the benefits of this practice, but I still believe the gain is greater than the pain (aside from the occasional hurt feet that is). I love the outdoors, I love the pace of a brisk walk, I love seeing the world around me, and I love the mild endorphin surge that I feel. I may not keep my walking practice indefinitely, but for now, it is fun and I plan to continue.

MMM from 1975 to today

My enjoyment of Michael Martin Murphey's music and singing dates back to 1975 when as a very thin high school student, I went with a friend to hear the Charlie Daniels Band. Charlie Daniels was one of the "outlaws" of the time and presented a blues/rock style with a western flavor. Over time his style morphed into a Country Western Cowboy style that was suitable for dancing and often contained "pushy" almost rock driven music. But at that concert in 1975, a relatively unknown young singer came out and sang some recent hits. That singer was Michael Murphey (no Martin yet). Geronimo's Cadillac, Carolina in the Pines, and Wildfire had just recently been released.

He was terrific, and I later acknowledged that my preferred part of the event was the Michael Murphey portion. I began to follow his career with some interest but not great zeal, after all two or three great songs do not a legend make. Several years later, Michael Murphey added Martin to his name and took his career another direction--Cowboy music. The strange blend of Country/Western, folk, pop, and now Cowboy seemed to be the right eclectic mix for his voice and style. He produced several albums of Cowboy Songs of which the first is probably the most well-known. His large vocal range, natural phrasing, appropriate text inflection, and personal expression all came together in the collection of Cowboy music.

Murphey's connection to the American Indian and his desire to "ride the range" on a horse completed his package. I became a classically trained symphonic musician steeped in the music of Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Strauss, and Mahler, but when alone, I sang and still sing folk songs and Cowboy music. Several years ago, it was with great excitement that I did two concerts with Murphey where I played French Horn in the orchestra. He was pleasant, musical, entertaining, and impressive as always.

I need to admit to having some Cowboy roots and as I type these words, I am thinking of my Dad who loved to sing and play guitar. My father's own music is joyous, profound, with a style all his own. Dad was a character. College professor, author, speaker, cowboy, innovator, extrovert, musician, Dad was an unusual articulator of life's joys. With a high regard for the human being, Dad championed the poor, the rich, the educated, the uneducated, the ugly, the pretty, nature, and everything in between. He discussed theology, politics, Beethoven, Steinbeck, movies, rocks, trees, business, and Gene Autry. My father often desired to get on a horse (he always said "harse" for some reason!) and ride off into the sunset singing Happy Trails.

Because we are products of our DNA and amalgamations of our past experiences, I am a trained, classical musician with a love for popular music and a love for music of the people. So it was with excitement that I attended the Michael Martin Murphey concert on Saturday night. The concert was at Hardin-Simmons University and utilized the school orchestra. Although 67 years old, Murphey sang well and reached the mostly older audience. We heard all the favorites plus Streets of Laredo, El Paso, and Tumbling Tumbleweeds. It was a terrific experience and my wife and I enjoyed every minute of the event. But as the concert came to a close and Michael Martin Murphey sang Happy Trails, I felt the tears slide down my face as I remembered my Dad playing guitar and singing. I sure do miss him and I treasure the memories.

Nothing like a little Cowboy music to keep life in perspective. Kind of clears out the stress and reminds us of the joys of the world. Wildfire is still a great song, timeless in style, and mysterious in expression, while Murphey's performance of Streets of Laredo is touching and personal. What's Forever For is also a great song and Tying a Knot in the Devil's Tail is pure fun. All these and more made for a great evening.

Ah, the Whistler

Walking into the grocery and trying to keep the weight of the day from crushing my generally optimistic spirit, I heard myself whistling. It was a strange sensation since I knew I was not whistling. Yet, it is true, that I am a whistler in general. With a song in my head most of the time, I often whistle or sing wherever I am. An annoying habit to some, pleasant to others, my public expression of music in my head is a normal part of everyday existence. Sometimes Brahms or Mozart, other times rock or pop, folk songs, Christian music, film music, or, most likely, my own made-up composition, I have a high regard for music in its totality and enjoy expressing music at every opportunity.

But this particular evening, I had no music in my head. Bad day all around. Lots of stress, contention, unrest, scowls, anger, needs not met, and selfishness. A day that needed to be over. So I walked into the grocery to buy some bagels and sugar free ice cream bars, and heard a whistler. This time it was not I who was whistling. Near the produce section stood an older gentleman in a white, rumpled shirt and work pants studying the apples and oranges. Perhaps he was a little intoxicated or maybe mentally disturbed or perhaps drunk on the joys of life or maybe masking his emotional pain by whistling. Whatever the reason, his whistle was loud, tuneless, happy, and a little annoying. Everyone in the store avoided the gentleman and seemed uncomfortable with his ebullience.

I, however, partly due to curiosity, partly out of a lack of fear, and partly because I saw myself in thirty years, headed toward the man. As I neared him, I smiled my charming grin and said hello. He stopped whistling, stared at me, and said, "Blessings to you sir!" He then turned away and said something about blessings over and over. He was pleasant, confused, pixillated, joyful, and innocent. His whistle resumed and I felt my stress dissipate. His innocence and joy was infectious and despite his odd behavior, I felt drawn in to his happy world.

He may have been a little unbalanced but his whistle balanced me. Maybe we can find truth, joy, and center in those who are not centered. Perhaps it is the unusual that can fix the broken and perhaps our complex world could use a moment of innocent expression of happiness.