Walk Like a Kid
Wonder and wander
There is an episode of Friends, “The One Where Phoebe Runs,” wherein Rachel criticizes Phoebe for running weird. Phoebe defends herself by claiming she is running like a kid because she’s more “free” and that’s “the only way it’s fun.” Recently, I’ve found myself thinking about this episode a lot. In my creative life, I’ve been trying to free up my mind more and reconnect with the “fun” of reading instead of always reading with a purpose. As part of that, I’ve recently changed how I approach my afternoon walks.
Most days, for years now, I go on a walk in the afternoon. When I was teaching, it was a way for me to shake off the day's stress, listen to a podcast, and get some exercise. When I began writing full-time, the purpose remained pretty much the same. Sometimes the walk is errand-oriented. Sometimes I would connect with a friend, and we’d chat. To keep it interesting, I might change routes or venture to the coast or a different park. But the majority of the time, listening to a podcast and exercising were the “goal” of the walk.
But one day recently, I decided I wasn’t really in the mood for a podcast, music, meditation, or an audiobook; I just wanted to literally clear my head. I wanted to just walk. Initially, it was disorienting, but then I relaxed into it. I observed the wildlife in the park. I listened to the leaves in the wind. I observed the people walking like I always had, with a purpose – get your steps in, listen to a podcast, walk the dog. When I got home, my mind felt more relaxed than it had in a while.
So, I decided to do it again the next day. And the next. And the next. And an interesting thing started to happen. I started to lose myself in the walk. I still observed the wildlife, the people — especially the kids, the dogs, the sounds, etc. But I found my mind began to wander and imagine. I remembered long walks I would take as a kid with my friend, Joan, collecting things for our imaginary play. I remembered the walks I would take around our neighborhood, collecting aluminum cans and wondering what it would be like to have a million dollars. I remembered losing myself completely in the stories in my mind, imagining I was alone, hiking through the wilderness.
Then something shifted. I didn’t just “remember” the experiences of being a kid and fantasizing on the walk. I became a kid again on the walk. I became immersed in imagining, writing a story in my mind, lost to the rhythm of my feet moving seemingly on their own. It felt so liberating.
Back at home, reflecting on the experience, I thought of Emerson describing a moment like this in his essay Nature:
Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth.
There was no snow in my park. No twilight. But there was a moment where my mind became free, just like a child’s, and the walk became just “fun” as Pheobe said, or “the perfect exhilaration” as Emerson said.
The realist in me understands that this will not be my experience walking every single day. And there is certainly nothing wrong with walking with a purpose. But I find myself thinking about having and savoring more of these moments. Taking the time, freeing my mind, and simply walking like a kid. I wonder what you might discover if you allow yourself to wander?
I’m off next week to visit our kids in the Pacific Northwest, but I will be back the following week. Thank you, as always, for being here and taking a few minutes of your time to read my words. ✨
What were walks like when you were a kid? I’d LOVE to hear from you in the comments.
ⓒ Angie Gascho 2026. All rights reserved.
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Ah, the joy of walking just for the sake of it. I needed this reminder, Angie. I’ve been cooped up in the house for three days, letting my State Fair cold run its course. Tomorrow: I walk!
When I was a kiddo, my best friend was Joanie. We used to get on our bikes and peddle with the intention of getting lost.