Since moving back to Philadelphia after the hustle and bustle (and burnout) of New York, I have begun taking long walks. I mostly amble with no care or intention in my destination. Sometimes, I miss the bus. Sometimes, I am carrying huge brown paper bags of groceries with the handle partially ripped. Sometimes, I am carrying library books home. Sometimes, I leave a date or a friend. Often, I walk too fast and huff and get tired and stop and sit to get up and walk some more. I make a point to not listen to music or podcasts or talk on the phone. It has become a practice of familiarizing, a wandering that has helped reacquaint myself to the city I once knew.
In humanity, quiet is inevitable, essential. It is a simple beautiful part of what it means to be alive. It is already there, if one is looking to understand it. — KevinQuashie[1]
Quiet is inevitable
Since moving back to Philadelphia after the hustle and bustle (and burnout) of New York, I have begun taking long walks. I mostly amble with no care or intention in my destination. Sometimes, I miss the bus. Sometimes, I am carrying huge brown paper bags of groceries with the handle partially ripped. Sometimes, I am carrying library books home. Sometimes, I leave a date or a friend. Often, I walk too fast and huff and get tired and stop and sit to get up and walk some more. I make a point to not listen to music or podcasts or talk on the phone. It has become a practice of familiarizing, a wandering that has helped reacquaint myself to the city I once knew.
In humanity, quiet is inevitable, essential. It is a simple beautiful part of what it means to be alive. It is already there, if one is looking to understand it. — Kevin Quashie[1]