Walking is My Meditation and Artistic Practice

Learning to accept my particular ways of communing with myself and the world around me

Music is a huge part of my life as an artist and writer.

So is walking. I combined the two at an early age. First, when I lived with my grandparents as a young child, I walked. Their house was a small, light brown rambler on a small grassy plot of land in Kirkland, Washington. I drove by it a couple years ago; it’s still there and now worth a lot of money despite its ramshackle appearance.

Living with my grandparents wasn’t easy, but it was easier than living with my mother, for whom I was too much. Though I missed her and, back then, would have chosen to go live with her above anything else. Now I think that living with my grandma and grandpa saved me. Their love was unconditional.

My grandmother was a recovered addict and alcoholic; a night nurse who slept most days. Her sleeping meant I couldn’t bring friends home, nor could I make noise myself. Even today I’m absurdly sensitive to noise in my apartment— a sensitivity that’s made it impossible for me to live with roommates. Back th…