Walking and writing have been in the news recently, reminding me that however benign they might seem, neither of my favourite activities can be separated from current affairs and politics. Claims about the curative nature of walking have been made, debated, refuted. Questions have been asked about how far life writing should reflect reality. I use the passive voice with intention. I have not yet even read the memoir at the centre of the controversy, nor have I delved into the science concerning walking and disease management. But I’m intrigued on all fronts.
I’m also lucky because on the whole I’m not too concerned by truth. Thankfully, there are people who make it their work to chip away at the world and discover the fine shingle of certainty. The researchers who run randomised clinical trials to uncover causal links between symptoms and treatments; the lawyers who ensure that publications do not breach copyright or libel those who feature within their pages. How valuable their endeavours are in helping the rest of us feel a little more secure, to be reassured that there can be answers and repercussions in our ever-chaotic society.
But certainty only occurs in fine seams, narrow slices cut from a much bigger rockface. And sometimes a symbolic truth is as powerful as an empirical one. If walking cannot be proven to cure a certain illness, it still undoubtedly brings a sense of healing and health to a great swathe of the public, who in turn may not require medical treatment for other conditions. If memoirs do not always maintain the ‘autobiographical pact,’ - the contract between author and reader implying all contents of a life story will be ‘nothing but that life’ – then other promises may still be kept: to tell a meaningful story, to provide insight from experience, to create images that resonate because they come from real interactions and emotions.
On my walk today, I wondered what measurable effect my daily outings have on my physical wellbeing. I know I feel better when I walk – more energised and mentally calmer – but is that a tangible outcome or just a subjective hunch? I also reflected on how much I shape these walks into manageable nuggets to parse them for The Writing Path. Did I really hear a woodpecker and a cuckoo singing together the other day, or did I just tell you that because it served my narrative purpose? Do I need to share everything that happens on these strolls to provide reliable evidence that my stories are legitimate? Or is it enough to accept that ‘truths’ of all kinds emerge when we are open to listening to stories and hearing their deep, symbolic, sometimes fantastical meanings?
