I was touring the campus of Pensacola Christian College for the first time, walking with my campus mom.
Until I heard a voice about ten feet behind me.
“Ahem . . . Hunter.”
I’d done that thing again.
There I was, what seemed a mile ahead of my tour guide. I’d walked way too far, but not far enough to hear her tut-tutting at my apparent sprint ahead. I marooned both of us, not by design, but by, well—
See, there’s this thing.
I walk to get places, and I walk fast, and that’s my default setting.
It’s nice when I need to get from point A to point B, or when I need some exercise, but shoot, when I started socializing, being more human, getting to know people, I didn’t realize how much of a socially-illiterate walker I was.
Until arriving at college, I don’t think I walked with another person before.
And that’s when I learned why I’d walk alone: because I walk like I am alone.
It’s not like I’m trying to get away from you if I’m more galloping than ambling. I’m not trying to be rude, inconsiderate, etc.
Walking is a focused, driven, routine, one-track thing for me; it’s how I’m wired, and left to my own devices, I’d walk without stopping, loping along, maybe even talking at myself while I ignore things around me.
I’m learning to slow down.
To walk with people.
To take in surroundings.
To realize that the destination is not the only thing that matters.
They say You’ll Never Walk Alone, but in The Life Autistic, you often do.
The Life Autistic 