Walk It Off (Literally)

Some days, the cushion feels like a trap.

My body wants to move. My mind refuses to settle. The stillness that used to feel like sanctuary now feels like a cage.

That’s when I walk.

Not to escape the practice, but to become it.

Applied Zen doesn’t mean forcing your body to obey some ancient form. It means working with your nervous system, not against it. And for a lot of us, especially trauma survivors, ADHD folks, neurodivergent seekers, movement is not a distraction from presence. It’s the doorway to it.

Walking meditation is not new. The Buddha did it. Thich Nhat Hanh made it famous. But I’m not talking about formal, choreographed steps in a garden labyrinth.

I’m talking about walking around your block.

Down your hallway.

Into your kitchen barefoot with tears in your eyes.

And noticing: I’m still here.

Each step becomes a bell.

Each footfall says: Now. Now. Now.

There’s a rhythm to it, a slow unwinding. You’re not walking for exercise. You’re walking for connection. You’re walking to stay with yourself when sitting feels too tight, too still, too close to the edge.

This is especially important if your body has learned that stillness means danger.

If you freeze under stress.

If your mind races the moment you try to “relax.”

Walk.

Let your heels remember gravity.

Let your arms swing a little.

Let your breath sync with your stride.

You’re not breaking the rules. You’re following the path that’s been here all along, your own body, leading you back to awareness.

So if you’ve ever told yourself, “I can’t meditate,” maybe you just haven’t tried walking it out yet.

Start small.

Start honest.

Let presence move.

Because the path isn’t always still.

Sometimes, the sacred thing is in motion.

And that counts too.