Solvitur ambulando

“Therefore walk with me.”

I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.

John Muir

Sometimes I think of all the moments in the life of the Savior that we don’t have a record of. So many.

We know almost nothing about the Jesus’s childhood, and very little about even the three years of His public ministry.

Where He lived, ate, and slept. Details about His family and friends. What made Him laugh. The sound of His voice.

All the times He loved and healed and blessed that we don’t have a record of.

And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written.

John 21:25

Here’s what I feel safe in saying, given what we know about the world Jesus lived in: He spent a lot of time walking, and walking is what this post is about.

We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls.

Mother Teresa

Months ago, I was on the app formally known as Twitter when I came across this tweet:

I love the heft of those two words: “Solvitur ambulando.”

It is solved by walking.

In Cal Newport’s marvelous book Digital Minimalism, he shares what may be my favorite definition of solitude:

“Solitude is about what’s happening in your brain, not the environment around you. Being in solitude is a subjective state in which your mind is free from input from other minds.”

He also defines solitude deprivation: “A state in which you spend close to zero time alone with your own thoughts and free from input from other minds.”

Newport then shares a powerful example of the importance of solitude from the life of Abraham Lincoln. Early in his presidency, he was constantly besieged by visitors, cabinet members, friends, and countless others. Some would literally stand outside his door, waiting to share personal requests. All of this on top of the overwhelming task of leading a country then in the horrible throes of the Civil War. However, Lincoln had a way to escape the chaos and commotion that besieged him in the White House. It was a place called the Soldier’s Home for disabled war veterans to live (now known as the Armed Forces Retirement Home) located some four miles to the north of the White House.

According to Newport, “Lincoln’s commute through the countryside between the capital and his cottage also provided time for him to think. We know Lincoln valued this source of solitude, as he would occasionally sneak out to begin his ride back to the capital without the cavalry company assigned to protect him. This was not a decision made lightly, as the military had previously uncovered a Confederate plot to assassinate Lincoln on this route, and the president was shot at on at least one occasion during the ride.”

“This time to reflect likely refined Lincoln’s responses to key events during his presidency. Folklore, for example, describes Lincoln scribbling the Gettysburg Address on the train ride to deliver his famed speech. This was not, however, Lincoln’s usual process: he typically worked on drafts for weeks leading up to important events. As Erin Carlson Mast, the executive director of the nonprofit that oversees the cottage, explained to me during my visit, during the weeks leading up to the Gettysburg Address,

Lincoln . . . was here at the cottage, often walking alone at night in the military cemetery. He didn’t keep a diary, so we don’t know his innermost thoughts, but we know he was here, encountering the human cost of war, right before he wrote those memorable lines.”

What does all of this have to do with walking? Pretty much everything, actually. Walking can be (and I would argue should almost always be) an act of solitude. With so much noise, both external and internal, we desperately and regularly need the brief but vital quiet of a good walk.

As Newport puts it, “You can enjoy solitude in a crowded coffee shop, on a subway car, or, as President Lincoln discovered at his cottage, while sharing your lawn with two companies of Union soldiers, so long as your mind is left to grapple only with its own thoughts. On the other hand, solitude can be banished in even the quietest setting if you allow input from other minds to intrude. In addition to direct conversation with another person, these inputs can also take the form of reading a book, listening to a podcast, watching TV, or performing just about any activity that might draw your attention to a smartphone screen. Solitude requires you to move past reacting to information created by other people and focus instead on your own thoughts and experiences—wherever you happen to be.”

On most Saturdays during the summer, you will find my wife Ginger and I on a hike in the mountains near our home. These have become some of the most important moments we spend together each week, providing us with much-needed time to talk about our goals, our marriage, and our children. It is also an opportunity to “walk with” the Savior.

I once was in a position to meet with couples trying to resolve difficult problems they faced as a couple. In addition to encouraging them to get professional help, to improve their relationship with the Savior, and to treat one another with more kindness, I would often counsel them to take walks together at least weekly. This counsel was often received with some degree of skepticism and sometimes even frustration. “How will taking a walk together help us with all of the problems we have in our marriage? We barely speak to each other, let alone spend time together?” I would simply tell them that the act of walking side by side, outside, had the potential to loosen some of the deep hurt they were feeling and allow a soothing spirit of “gentleness, meekness, and love unfeigned” to take its place. Some listened and acted and reported the benefits they saw. Others felt it was too hard and didn’t try.

I believe the Savior can be found in solitude. I wrote about this in one of my first posts here on Substack. I love that He has invited us to walk with Him. This feels like a personal, one-on-one experience. One of my favorite New Testament stories is the account of the two disciples walking with the Savior on the road to Emmaus. I believe that part of what made that experience so meaningful to those two mournful followers was the brief moments they shared as they walked with Him.

I need my own such moments with Him. My worries and fears are many. His offer of companionship and comfort as I attempt to find my way brings hope to my heart.

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk: every day I walk myself into a state of well being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.

Søren Kierkegaard

Quote of the week:

“Now shall I walk or shall I ride?
'Ride,' Pleasure said;
'Walk,' Joy replied.”

W.H. Davies

Song of the week (#1:)

We went to an absolutely lovely concert last week with Gregory Alan Isakov. If you ever get a chance to see him perform—run, don’t walk. This is one of our favorite songs.

Song of the week (#2:)

‘Cause it’s about a road and finding what lies at the end of it

Podcast of the week:

Learning how to walk with the Savior requires the help of the Holy Ghost. This interview with Elder Bednar has taught me so much about how to do so. I learn something new each I listen.

Movie of the week:

This movie hits hard. Two people, each passionate (obsessed?) about doing something no one has ever done before.

Book of the week:

Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act is one of the more important books I’ve read in awhile. It’s also full of hope and practical, actionable advice from a true creative genius. Here’s just one of literally hundreds of quotes from the book that I could share:

Living life as an artist is a practice.
You are either engaging in the practice
or you’re not.

It makes no sense to say you’re not good at it.
It’s like saying, “I’m not good at being a monk.”
You are either living as a monk or you’re not.

We tend to think of the artist’s work as the output.

The real work of the artist
is a way of being in the world.