lonely pedestrian

to stroll... or not to stroll

After moving across the globe from California to Barcelona, I experienced living in a city with an infrastructure that encourages human interaction and physical movement. Even on days when I don’t have plans to see friends, I’m still warmed by the presence of other people sitting next to me on the metro or squeezing by me on the sidewalk. On the walk to my zone’s metro line, which takes me to the many places I frequent and most often to school, I am alert. The walk is the same every day, but the people always change and I must observe them all. A little girl covered in colorful facepaint, meant to imitate makeup, tricycling away from her dad who speedwalks after her while trying to maintain a conversation on the phone. A queer couple linking fingers and giggling together on the metro, so giddy and in love. Many people rushing to or from work, looking corporate. Travelers clogging up the streets, stopped in awe of the beautiful buildings and tourist attractions all around them. I’m romanticizing of course, but, in a lot of ways, it truly is romantic. 

The difference between my life in Barcelona and the suburbia that I grew up in and semi-frequently return to is stark. Going on a walk to stretch my legs is something I have to fit into my routine for my mental and physical well-being. I often have to invent my own sidewalk as cars roar by me, a lonely pedestrian. As an immigrant, my mom was shocked when she first moved to the U.S. and saw no one walking around or sitting in front of cafes laughing with friends, the streets were uninhabited by humans and swarming with cars. The activities I do with my own friends consist of strolling around our neighborhoods, hanging out at each other’s houses, or going on day trips to cities other than ours. It takes effort to not just drive around and loiter in stores and buy useless items all the time; the way the place is set up encourages that as the main activity. I don’t want to make it sound so black and white because it’s not, but the downward shift in my social life and mental health is noticeable whenever I come back to the suburbs. And that’s not a coincidence, it’s by design. 

When I’m visiting home now, I try to walk to the places I can reach on foot instead of drive, but it’s not the same experience when the area isn’t made for people, it’s made for cars. In my opinion, it all goes together: the cars, the screens, the lack of human interaction, the declining state of the environment. It all demonstrates our isolating habits which are based on our addiction to convenience and the need to optimize everything. Maybe I’m just philosophizing now… I’ll save that for my next walk.