Walking improves me. Similar to daily writing, it airs out what feels ill inside of me. It rinses me out. Lima is full of very crowded sidewalks full of humans taking their time. To me, Latinos have a different sense of timing. They assume there is more of it. They don´t powerwalk down the sidewalks of Lima. They saunter.

My feet were hurting today as I decided to take my daily walk in flip*flops in which I mentally noted, “Don´t wear these again!” I had my music on. I walked down the Malecón, the beautiful beach-cliff walk that winds its way through my new neighborhood of Miraflores. I considered the whole grand pageant of my life. I considered my effort, my intentions, my choice of shoes, my oily hair, my t-shirt. I sipped water through the little cup I am obsessed with carrying around. I remember the work I need to do tonight, sitting in my apartment.

I suppose walking is a platform for normal life, a stage of a very human life. What keeps happening, thank God, is that we keep moving along. Down the busy sidewalk, down a street of our life, down a series of efforts.