August 22, 2025

Finding My Way, One Walk At A Time

I have lived here for not even three months, so I’m still in that fun, slightly lost phase. Street names blur. I pull up maps for a 30 minute walk. What I don’t need directions for is the wooded trail behind my place. It runs all the way to the mall, a shady little shortcut that makes the city feel softer.

Most days I take the dog through it. She trots like she’s the tour guide and I’m the intern. The air smells like cedar, the birds are loud, and the regulars give that quick nod that says we’re good. There are a ton of dog walkers. Your dog sniffs, mine pretends she’s above it, we keep it moving. I don’t know many people’s names yet, but I’m learning the dogs. Maple. Tank. Daisy. A dignified senior called Mr. Pickles who wears a bandana like a tiny professor.

Follow the path long enough and the trees open up to the mall. I’m not there for a shopping spree as much as a cool down. Grab a water, people watch, reset. Teenagers trying on new versions of themselves. Toddlers bargaining for pretzels. Retired couples doing laps like absolute champs. It’s ordinary in the best way. When you’re new, ordinary is gold.

The neighborhood off the trail is starting to map itself in my head. There’s Smiths Market, all fresh fruits and vegetables that actually taste like something. There’s a big grocery store for essentials and a second hand store that begs for a slow browse. I keep finding little pockets of life I didn’t expect. No bread vendor at the weekend market, so scratch that from the fantasy, but Smiths easily makes up for it.

Behind my place is a ski hill. I stare at it and hype myself up. It could be fun in the winter if I can get brave. I have never downhill skied, and I’m not trying to be the viral video of the season, but it’s right there. Feels like a dare I might eventually take.

Beside me is a school yard. Even with school out for summer, there’s always something happening. Pickup soccer, parents pushing strollers, teenagers shooting around. It keeps the evenings lively without being chaotic. I can already hear how it’ll shift when September hits. Bells ringing, kids yelling to their friends, that buzz that says life’s moving. Honestly, I’m into it. There’s something grounding about the daily rhythm of a school day drifting through the window.

Exploring like this is low effort, high return. No big itinerary, just follow what looks interesting. I’m learning the pace here. Mornings are dogs and runners. Afternoons are errands and iced coffee. Evenings are porch lights and barbecue smoke and someone practicing guitar with more heart than rhythm. It’s not trying to be a movie, which makes it easier to love.

I’m also figuring out my loops. The route where the dog stops pulling. The shortcut that shaves five minutes off a grocery run. The bench that hits perfect shade for a ten minute scroll. These tiny wins stack up. One more familiar turn. One more friendly face. One more place that starts to feel like mine.

Starting over can make you feel like a blank page, and that’s both exciting and a little loud in the brain. The trail helps. Every time I lace up, I get a simple win. Walk in, walk out, feel a bit more at home. Places have personalities. You only meet them if you show up repeatedly. You don’t force it. You earn it by waving to the same stranger twice, by buying grapes at Smiths enough times that they ask how your week’s going, by letting the dog flirt with the same golden retriever until they’re basically friends.

So yeah, I’m new here. I still mispronounce a street or two. But I’ve got a path to the mall, a dog who thinks she’s the mayor, Smiths Market for the good produce, a second hand store to dig through, a school yard soundtrack that’ll kick back in September, and a ski hill daring me to try something brave when the snow comes. That’s enough for now. Tomorrow I’ll take the trail again and see what else reveals itself.