How Will You Go About Finding That

Walking . . . Is How The Body Measures Itself Against The Earth.

To Write Is To Carve A New Path Through The Terrain Of The Imagination, Or To Point Out New Features On A Familiar Route. To Read Is To Travel Through That Terrain With The Author As A Guide-- A Guide One Might Not Always Agree With Or Trust, But Who Can At Least Be Counted On To Take One Somewhere.

The Language Of Commerce Has Been Engineered To Describe The Overt Purpose Of A Thing, But Cannot Encompass Fringe Benefits Or Peripheral Pleasures. It Weighs The Obvious Against What In Its Terms Are Incomprehensible. When I Drive From Here To There, Speed, Privacy, Control, And Safety Are Easy To Claim. When I Walk, What Happens Is More Vague, More Ambiguous-and In Many Circumstances Much Richer. I Am Out In The World. It's Exercise, Though Not So Quantifiably As On A Treadmill In A Gym With A Digital Readout.

Language Is Like A Road, It Cannot Be Perceived All At Once Because It Unfolds In Time, Whether Heard Or Read. This Narrative Or Temporal Element Has Made Writing And Walking Resemble Each Other.

How Do You Calculate Upon The Unforeseen? It Seems To Be An Art Of Recognizing The Role Of The Unforeseen, Of Keeping Your Balance Amid Surprises, Of Collaborating With Chance, Of Recognizing That There Are Some Essential Mysteries In The World And Thereby A Limit To Calculation, To Plan, To Control. To Calculate On The Unforeseen Is Perhaps Exactly The Paradoxical Operation That Life Most Requires Of Us.