It never surprises me to have a new addiction pop up. I seem to be wired in that direction, perhaps genetically, and at least through habit. But my latest addiction doesn't disturb me. In fact, it please me no end.
I've become addicted to walking. In late June, I went for my annual summer retreat up to Aldermarsh on Whidbey Island. My friend Pam and I walked every day, sometimes twice, both aiming for 10K steps on our Fitbits. It was fun to walk together and at the end of 10 days, I decided to keep that up when I got home.
So each morning I would either go to the gym with my gym buddy or walk a mile in the neighborhood. And then I began to lengthen my walks and by late August I was walking 2 miles each morning that I didn't go to the gym. I didn't listen to music to pass the time. I didn't need to. I was happy just to walk through the streets, looking at houses and yards, seeing what was going on, finding new routes.
Now I walk some days even after the gym. It's not about the Fitbit any more. It's about moving and thinking. Some days I'm writing a poem. Other days I'm solving a problem with a painting or a novel. Some days I'm not thinking much at all. I'm just moving and looking.
The last two really rainy days I began to see the addiction. I was angry that the weather was inclement and relieved when a drizzly space opened up and I could get out and walk. I had to laugh at myself. And I'm glad this is the new addiction. It's one of the best I've ever had.