*Not the wagered kind
What is it that makes a person a pedestrian? By rough definition, a pedestrian is someone who goes by foot or walks, typically in places with vehicular traffic, like a city. Broadly, a pedestrian is a person of any ability who goes by foot or uses a mobility device like a wheelchair, powerchair, walker, or stander. Who gets to be a pedestrian is a different question. Of the places I have lived or had the privilege to walk, some are much more pedestrian-friendly than others.
Being a pedestrian means opening myself to alternative modes of being, functioning, and generally living with the world. As a pedestrian, I must be self-reliant in my means to get somewhere. In this self-reliance, I include the resources I’ve collected for my disposal. There is the physical in walking, running, taking public transportation, travelling with friends, and renting. And there are the conscious connections I’ve had to gain or make via friends (who might provide a ride) and services like rental car agencies. (I mention modes of transportation here because they seem to be somewhat crucial to our movement as people in the 21st century). Going can also take various forms, from functional movement to forward motion with little purpose or intent. When I walk, there is usually some intent to it, but I find my walking practice takes the form of the latter.
There are many ways to be a pedestrian, and my pedestrianism looks different in a city than in the countryside’s bucolic landscape. As I’m certain it looks different between myself and others. Before moving to Toronto to attend UofT, I commuted from Clarington. After two hours on public transit, I was eager to walk. I soon adopted the downtown business workers’ pace. I learned the motion of traffic and the rate at which the traffic lights changed. Timed correctly, from the moment my feet hit the ground at the corner of Front Street and University Avenue, I could walk from Union Station non-stop to the University of Toronto campus in ~40 minutes. A big feat for someone of five-foot stature.
Some pedestrians follow every traffic law. I do not. For me, crossing safely hasn’t always meant crossing at designated places. It’s my pedestrian philosophy to cross when and where it appears safest to do so. If that means in the middle of the street between red lights when all or most vehicle traffic has stopped, so I go. Because in the decades I’ve walked, I’ve learned that vehicle traffic isn’t looking for me, regardless of being stopped at a light and having a walk sign. No, they are looking for other vehicles, cars and trucks. I exclude bicycles, motorcycles, and mopeds, even though they are vehicles of the road. But, like pedestrians, they are often ignored by larger vehicles. I’ve also noticed that a lot of people, pedestrians included, go with their heads down. We love to text, change our tunes, watch videos, and do other things with our phones or center consoles as we go. But if a driver’s eyes aren’t on me and mine are not on them, we do not see one another.
When not going from point A to B, I do my best to take my time. To notice. This is a practice in walking meditation. It’s a practice that has taken years for me to be comfortable to perform. Some days, I find myself in physical and mental overdrive when taking to the street. As a pedestrian, I sometimes toe a line of wanting to be noticed in the performance of being me in the concrete jungle and abhorring the gaze of others. This is when I need to notice most and find it’s easiest to get there in the practice of walking. On days I have no course, I don’t set one and give myself the freedom to wander and wonder. If my anxiety is on overdrive, I take a quiet path, a park, or elope to a wooded trail. Over time and seasons, this develops into a habit of noticing, of mental note-taking, things one might otherwise overlook. In the streetscape, it may be something as small as a fresh-painted door or the tear-down of a building that’s been in view for years. In the woods, it will be the changes in colour as the seasons pass, a difference in bird song from one place to the next, or fresh tracks in the dirt. There is a sense one can use in every instance to notice.
This is how I have captured moments like a man in a suit skipping down the steps and into the street away from his workplace or acquiring a near-full deck of playing cards collected one by one on the street. In the woods, I caught a glance of a squirrel carrying away another animal’s skull, watched a hummingbird preen in a tree, and mapped the mayapples, trilliums, and more. Walking brings me peace of mind and a sense of presence. It opens a way to be with the world.