Cocooned Vs. Engaged

                The walk begins cocooned.  I have brand new AblePlanet foldable, noise-cancelling, hot pink headphones.  The cord is too long, but the sound quality is exquisite.  The bass vibrates my ears, massaging them with whatever song my iPod’s shuffle decides to play.  I have quite a few playlists, but I am curious to see what my iPod would come up with on its own during my walk of disengagement.

                The first song is “Instant Karma!” by John Lennon, Live in New York.  The fast-paced beat of the tambourine travels through my ears, my brain, then swiftly moves my feet, one after another.  I notice bright colors out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my head down as if looking for my own words written in the pavement.

                “Soft Shock” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is the next pick on the song shuffle.  The sweet melodic voice brings a smile to my face and I look up.  I look around, searching for another smiling face.  I immediately remember that I should be paying closer attention to the ground, so I drop my head as quickly as I lifted it.  I then realize how silly I must seem, looking so eagerly for a friendly face, and then so intensely changing mood to introverted thought.  This thought makes me smile even more, almost letting out a laugh.

                I find myself tapping my fingers against my leg, pretending to strum invisible guitar strings attached to my jeans.  I smell sautéed shrimp, maybe?  I look into the restaurant emitting the odors and see a few families sitting for afternoon snacks and drinks.  None of them make eye contact with me, and it seems like they’re deeply engaged in their conversations.

                The next song is “Streetfighter” by The Subways.  It’s a bonus track on one of their CDs that I had not listened to thoroughly.  I can recognize the singer’s voice, but I have to check to make sure that I am correctly guessing the album.  This band reminds me of my sweet-16 summer, year 2007.  Such a fun and carefree time; I visited friends in St. Louis and didn’t do much else.

Now I am reminded of the heavy responsibilities that I must face.  Income is always something to keep in mind now that I’m on my own.  I pass by several “Now Hiring” or “Help Wanted” signs and am reminded of that pressure.

“Dance on Stilts” by Blue Oyster Cult is the next selection.  There seems to be a familiar, reoccurring rock theme that my iPod is taking a liking to today.  I’m enjoying the smooth, steady rhythms that seem to syncopate with my footsteps.

I am almost tangled in a dog leash, so I slip my headphones down to my neck and apologize for becoming lost in thought.  The man walking his dog smiles, waves, and continues to pass by me.

The lyrics in the song are becoming a bit repetitive and I notice my pace slowing and I become slightly irritated.  Then the guitar riff starts and my gait is put at ease once more.  I run my fingers along a wooden bench and tilt my head toward the sun to feel the warmth on my face.

I think about stopping in the post office to check my mail, but decide it might be a better thing to do while I’m doing the engaged walk.  “In Limbo” by Radiohead starts playing just as soon as the guitar riff stops.

I love the spacious feeling that Radiohead gives me when I listen to it.  It’s not overpowering, but it still holds my attention.  Something in the lyrics reminds me of my friend that I spent my last night in Tucson with.  I start thinking about her and wondering what she’s doing.  I hope she gets the job she was applying for.  I bet she will.

I don’t really notice much about my surroundings during this song.  I am too concentrated on the soulful voice of Thom Yorke and my curiosity about friends left behind.

The next song is “Love Life” by Atmosphere.  Slug, the artist, is a genius.  I admire his work so much and have had a few opportunities to see him perform live, but all were missed and regrettably so.  I continue zoning out for the duration of the song, concentrating only on the lyrics and counting the pavement slabs as I continue my journey.

One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands plays next: “She Ionizes and Atomizes” by Modest Mouse.  I stop to rest on a bench and stare at my feet as the sad lyrical melody brings extra fatigue to my body.

It’s time to start my engaged walk and “8:16 a.m.” by 311 starts playing.  The upbeat, smooth voice brings me to my feet and I turn off my iPod.  I fold the headphones and replace them in their carrying case.  I put both the headphones and the iPod back in my small Camelbak.  I find the hose and get some water before continuing on my path.

Immediately I notice birds chirping and look up into the trees nearby to see if I can find any nests.  I see one, but it looks abandoned.  The rest are probably too high and too hidden in the branches for my eyes to reach.

It’s much cooler in the shade and I don’t have a jacket, so I make my way back to the sidewalk and continue walking in the sun.  There is a mother pushing a stroller approaching me.  She smiles and I smile and nod my head to her.  As she gets closer, I curiously peer down into the carriage and see a chubby-faced sleeping baby.  Its tiny open mouth is drooling and I can’t help but smile.

As I continue, I start humming a tune that belongs to no particular song.  The notes are quick and fast at first, but deepen and lengthen as I realize that I have travelled further down the street than I intended.  I cross and begin my return in the opposite direction.

A cyclist slows to let me cross and barely lifts his hand from the handlebars to give me the polite wave and go-ahead.  I quicken my pace to allow him to continue on his path as well.  He releases his break and I can hear his pants brushing against the frame of the bike as he pedals onward.

I notice some gorgeous tulips in a flowerbed near the sidewalk, so I stop to smell them.  They’re pink, purple, and red.  Their scent is not incredibly strong, but it is refreshing and their color is vibrant enough to make up for their lack of odor.

I continue, and I notice that my pace has slowed considerably since I am taking the time to stop and examine things more closely as I pass them rather than become absorbed in my own thought and only in the intentional progress.

I pass several young adults, in their mid-twenties maybe, idling and chatting near a staircase that seems to lead to an upper-deck patio bar.  Their laughter is contagious amongst the group and one laugh quickly turns into two and turns into five.

I make eye contact with two elderly men sitting on a bench outside of a shop displaying all kinds of small trinkets and decorative items.  They both smile and one says “hello” while the other nods.  I respond to each appropriately, first smiling of course, saying “hi” and then nodding and broadening the smile, never dropping eye contact or hesitation to move forward.

A chocolate lab wearing a red bandana runs out of a bar with wide open doors.  His tail wags and his ears pull back as he greets me, panting.  I bend my knees to lower my body, pet his head, and scratch behind his ears.  His eyes and mouth close in appreciation.

After a minute of puppy love, I rise to continue on my journey.  A man wearing a day pack is approaching the bar and he too kneels to give the dog attention.  I’m sure the dog must get a lot of love hanging around a bar all day.

As I continue walking, I smell all sorts of tasty aromas.  I realize that I’m hungry and start to look for a good place to grab a bite to eat.  The Ryce Asian Cuisine menu lists many dishes that sound incredibly appetizing, but they’re not open yet.  The next affordable and appetizing place is the Mexicali grill.  I believe this is where I smelled the sautéed shrimp earlier.  I look at the menu and the shrimp quesadilla comes with freshly made salsa and any type of meat filling.  I imagine a delicious meal and decide I will wander back in this direction once I have walked a bit further.

I pass a very decorative display window and there is a woman cleaning it with blue Windex and a blue towel.  The edge of the window is ornate with flowers and sparkling fake icicles that twirl on clear fishing wire.

Two small boys holding hands run past me as their mother calls out for them to slow down and be careful.  I hear a smacking sound behind me and turn to see that one of the boys has tripped and fell.  He rolls over from his stomach to his back and his face immediately becomes red as his cheeks pinch his eyes shut.  Tears stream down his face and his mouth opens to let out a cry.  The mother rushes past me, over to the two boys and scoops the fallen one up in her arms.  His breathing settles and she strokes his hair.  She looks to the other boy who is taller and probably older, and she tells him that they need not run so quickly.  She says that it’s better to be safe and not to risk these kinds of accidents.  The boy looks shamefully to the ground and nods his head.  She releases the hurt child to the ground and pats them both on the head.

By this point, I have almost reached my initial starting point.  I pivot at the edge of the block and make my way back to the Mexicali grill for a late lunch.  In my mind, I replay all of the events that I witnessed while engaging with my surroundings.  I start to wonder about all the things I missed while excluding myself from the external participation.