The Inner Monologue

If I’m being honest with myself, my favorite form of physical exercise isn’t the kind that happens in a gym. It’s walking — but not just any walk. It’s the long, solitary kind where the rhythm of my steps eventually syncs with my thoughts until I stop noticing either. It’s when I’m out there alone, maybe at dusk, with the light fading and the air cooling, that my mind finally unwinds enough to sort itself out. Every step feels like deleting an unnecessary file from my head.

There’s something deeply meditative about walking — the simplicity of motion, the lack of equipment, the quiet dignity of just moving forward. I’ve tried running, cycling, hiking with groups, all the “better” exercises, but they all feel like I’m performing. Walking, especially when I’m alone, feels like thinking with my body. It’s where the noise of life fades and the inner monologue finally gets to breathe.

So, yes — walking. Not for fitness, not for miles, not even for scenery. Just the act itself. Moving without purpose, but somehow finding clarity in the motion.