The Lost Are of Sauntering
“Sauntering is no more vagrant than the meandering river.”
On a podcast I listened to recently, a hiker shared a story about hiking on a trail in Scotland with a newbie. Originally, they had planned to conquer the 90-mile trail in six days, but the new hiker struggled to keep pace, so they called an audible and stretched it to nine days. The experienced hiker said they were passed multiple times by others on the trail. Normally, he said that would have bothered him, but the slower pace gave him time to appreciate the sights and sounds better.
In essence, they sauntered, which seems like a lost art. But it doesn’t have to be. Some people are trying to bring it back. Did you know that June 19 is World Sauntering Day? Or that there is an entire website dedicated to the practice: Sauntering.org?
Hikers like to quote John Muir when it comes to sauntering: “I don’t like either the word [hike] or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains – not ‘hike!’ Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre,’ ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.”
Henry David Thoreau was equally as philosophical about the act of sauntering in his book Walking: “I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks – who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived ‘from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, ‘There goes a Sainte-Terrer,’ a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.”
Sauntering is no more vagrant than the meandering river. Isn’t that good? As I thought about that, I realized that sauntering applies to far more than just walking. In fact, it can be more of a mindset. One in which life isn’t a competition but instead, embraces discovery, enjoyment, joy, cheer and even a “deliberate aimlessness.” A person can fall into sauntering against his or her will, like the experienced hiker did after he was forced to, but why not be more intentional?
I used to go fishing every Memorial Day with a buddy named Shawn who lived in central Nebraska. He owned a cabin there that was close to a beautiful body of water and lots of fish. I always came home with a sunburn and lots of stories. Oh, and pictures. Lots of pictures. You might know that Shawn unexpectedly passed away recently. As I scroll through old pictures from those trips, I smile as I recall the memories we made. And now I’m sharing those memories in a Facebook group that honors Shawn. I’m glad we took the time to saunter.
Here are a few other ways to saunter.
Take a “Sunday drive.” If you’ve never heard the term, long before our society sped up to breakneck speed, people left church and went on a long, leisurely drive, often on an unplanned route for the mere sake of just enjoying the moment. Today, you might hear someone referred to as a “Sunday driver” in a negative context. Check out this video by Brett Eldredge if you currently feel this way [have tissues ready]. Then, if you dare, take a Sunday drive this weekend.
Take a walk outside without your headphones. Carry a notebook and jot down anything you observe. Talk to people who seem open to conversation. Take photos. Forget about setting a timed or distance goal. Stroll down the path while staying in the moment. Listen to the insects. Smell the pine trees. Put your hand in the stream. Engage all five senses.
Read at a slower than usual pace. Have you ever neared the end of a book or series and not wanted it to end, so you read slower? What if you read the entire book slower, making notes as you went, or just read a page or two at a time so you could savor what you read? Who cares if you miss your reading goal for the year? Would you rather reach your goal or enjoy the reading experience? The two aren’t mutually exclusive, of course, but give it a try.
Visit a cigar or wine bar. I met a friend once in a cigar bar. The place had all sorts of nooks and crannies, probably so customers could find some privacy. I’m a non-smoker. But I went to saunter, linger, talk. Nobody checked his or her watch. Patrons puffed and sipped and conversed. I didn’t have a clue how to prepare a cigar, so my buddy did it for me, teaching me how to trim and light it. It tasted sweeter than I expected. I haven’t gone back, but I’m grateful for the experience.
Visit an old haunt differently. But that, I mean, if you normally go to a coffee shop to work on a project, don’t bring your laptop next time. Bring your Kindle or a book instead. Don’t look at your watch. Just get lost in a book or essay. Sip your coffee or tea. People-watch. Be open to having a conversation. Take in the scent of brewing coffee. Savor the experience.
Read your Bible differently. Rather than rushing through a section to complete your daily Bible reading goal, read a verse or two, then meditate on it. My pastor recently suggested “communing prayer,” which uses one or two verses as a jumping-off point for “taking a few moments of silence to open ourselves relationally to God before we speak to Him.” I pulled up a verse I’d been meditating on and spent five minutes pulling it apart, word by word. As I did, God began to speak to me about something I hadn’t ever considered.
Stop scrolling. A couple of months ago, I set a time limit on my phone for various social media apps. Once I’m out of time, that’s it for the day. Scrolling is viewing other people’s priorities. There’s a time for that. But sauntering is taking the time to discover what you are missing by scrolling. It might mean putting a reading app on your phone and focusing on that instead. Or maybe you can get into the habit of journaling on your phone. Or better yet, let’s set down our phones and look up at the world around us.
