A New Way of Walking

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Later, as we were talking over the experience, we all agreed that the algorithm had operated like some higher force. We felt as if we were moving in a strange new zone exactly halfway between randomness and order. No one could predict where the left-and-right pattern would take us, yet we weren't wandering. The firm logic of the algorithm was constantly taking us away from the directions and destinations our whims might have chosen.

And the pattern had done more than simply lead us to hidden surprises. It had also conferred significance on seemingly insignificant spaces like an empty alley, a fresh tree stump, a set of hidden stairs, a bank sign, an abandoned church. In either goal-oriented walking or ordinary strolling, we might have ignored or discounted these things. If we had been striving to get somewhere, we would have been thinking only about our destination. And if we had been following our own noses, we might have been consciously or unconsciously searching for things and places that were more beautiful, restful, or obviously significant -- like parks, forests, restaurants, shops, or monuments.

Instead, there was something about tracing out this strange, secret, but inevitable itinerary through the landscape of Albert Lea that turned just about everything into a significant marker or a station on our way. We felt as if we were constantly on the verge of discovering something that would give us secret knowledge of the town -- and, of course, we were right. Our consciousness of what was important and unimportant, beautiful and dull, in a small town had been completely altered. Our psyches had a new relationship with geography.

Joseph Hart is an Utne contributing editor. He walks in Viroqua, Wisconsin, where he edits The Drift, a zine about small-town life. For a free copy, send your mailing address to TheDrift@frontiernet.net

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