Most weekdays find me taking a stroll to my place of work by around 7 in the morning, departing from my home on Dublin’s northern side and making my way to the south. The trip typically takes me approximately one hour and fifteen minutes.
This is a city commute, characterised by the bustling urban setting rather than the natural tranquillity associated with trailblazing in New Zealand or Australia’s bush walking. Despite not resembling such outdoor activities, a purpose is always attached to this daily city exploration.
My journey always has a set endpoint, a never-changing destination that requires my prompt arrival at a specified hour.
I undertake this pedestrian journey with no distractions, likened to a free solo climber navigating cliff edges without being tethered to harnesses. Unlike the climbers, however, my device-free commute may seem less thrilling, but it has its merits.
This relative silence allows me to observe minor details routinely overlooked – simple, unremarkable factors like the morning darkness transitioning into a progressive morning glow as the weeks pass.
I’d love to claim this routine makes me vastly mindful, but the reality doesn’t agree. As always, random thoughts creep in. They appear, shine for a moment, and vanish into the abyss.
I contemplate retirement with a bountiful pension. I fret over the discolouration caused by damp on the extension ceiling. I express concerns about the deteriorating climate. I plan my grocery shopping and toy with the idea of trying a recommended recipe that seems simple yet mouthwatering. At times, images from the Gaza or Yemeni refugee camp news coverage flit through my mind, momentarily heightening my appreciation for my good fortune, before shifting back to worries about my pension fund.
Naturally, scattered memories pop up and then dissipate. Triggered by a sight, a scent, or a sound, past figures long departed from this life emerge and fade away just as swiftly.
Currently, my journey involves traversing O’Connell Street or crossing the Liffey, then proceeding amongst delivery vans on Grafton street. It’s more industrious than poetical. Rather than quaint images of cap-wearing, apron-clad tradesmen, there are mainly workers intermittently consulting their handheld devices checking their stock. There have always been pragmatic alternatives like taking Bus routes 9 or 16, but I tend to avoid them unless the weather is unfavourable or if my presence is required earlier than usual.
For me, the seclusion of my thoughts can’t be indulged on public transport. My phone becomes an unwelcome intruder. Daydreaming, might I add, of the top caliber, evidently, require a certain monotony of movement to lubricate the thoughts lodged in one’s psyche.
Given that I’m employed in a school, I often find myself observing children immersed in their thoughts, gazing out windows or sitting idly in the courtyard. Children are naturally adept at daydreaming and soaking-in their environment, way more advanced than their adult counterparts. They can afford the luxury to halt and absorb the frenzied surroundings. I once found a student under a picnic table near the side wall. He was all by himself, using the wooden frame to prop himself up. Seeing this, I asked him if he’s okay. His cheery reply of “Fine” was accompanied by a grin before returning to his observation.
My friends are puzzled by this walking habit of mine. I’m not one to drive, yet I acknowledge the comfort of a heated, cozy car. Undeniably time or other obligations could deter one. Being single, my comings and goings have minimal impact on anyone else.
Dublin, to be clear, is not particularly friendly to walkers. Everything about it is car-centered, from the efficiency of traffic to parking prospects. However, it’s also far from being the worst city to navigate on foot.
Upon reaching the educational institution, my adrenaline kicks in and I’m all set for the day. Afterwards, many hours later, I take out my Leap card and place it into my rear pocket, readying for my homeward journey. It’s the bus that calls to me on this occasion. Experiencing this once a day is wholly sufficient.