On Paripatetic Rumination
As is my habit, I walk quite quickly along the beach at least three to four times a week. Round trip, this covers three miles (5km) at a minimum, nine miles a week, 468 miles a year, and thousands of miles over a decade. The point is, I pass many fellow Novocastrians taking in the views in this stunning part of the planet. This Good Friday was no different as I wove my way through crowds walking the coastline as the king tide ebbed and flowed with ten to fourteen-foot waves.
On another such walk, I noticed a pristine purple crock in the size range of a toddler. A loose-fitting shoe, surely it had to have been left behind rather recently. My mind began conjuring a story about the fate of the little clog until I caught the glimpse of a similar purple shade peaking out of a packed pram being pushed some twenty meters up the promenade. The probability was high that the crock I’d just seen could be reunited with its owner, had I the courage to head back to recover it.
As I approached the family ensemble, I could see the mom notice something missing and inquired with the dad who had charge of the stroller. Shoulders shrugged, heads turned, as the implications of the loss slowly approached a state of potential drama. As the hero in this story, I passed at just that moment and, without a word, handed his salvation to him like two runners in a relay race. “Thank you!” “No worries!” And like that, I was on my way, lost again in peripatetic rumination.
Upon recounting this act of kindness to a colleague, I was asked how it felt to have done such a good little deed. The question seemed to include a subtle worry that my tale was grounded in the conceit of humble bragging. But what if the little girl had not recovered her shoe? Think of the fit of tears as the family packed its incomplete beach caravan into the car. What then if she listlessly persisted with wearing just one favorite sole, her other bare foot blistering as the uneven gate pulled her in circles? My intervention just may have staved off scoliosis. Not to mention the marriage I saved. Had the mom connected the complete carelessness of her partner to a longer string of events, the relationship may have broken under the strain. No, my act likely intervened in the course of history, reversing the consequences of lifelong pain and heartbreak.
Then again, maybe none of that was true. This doubt made me consider cosmic explanations. Maybe my updated karma calculations might ward off future calamity or reincarnation as a cockroach. If the Buddhists turned out to be wrong, maybe I’d miss out on extra time in purgatory. Or maybe I’d enjoy a more restful slumber before awaking in the eschaton if Martin Luther had it right. Pascal’s wager notwithstanding, what is a walk if not a chance to slow the inevitable gravity pulling us all six feet under? The world always looks darker when staring into the cast of your own shadow. Sometimes, a small act of kindness is all you can do to look up.
Nobby’s Beach, Newcastle, Australia
