Jono Lineen discusses how walking has made us more creative, constructed our perception of time and made us more resilient.
I rise and take my place between the earth and sky. Standing tall, chest high and chin up, I breathe and let the world in. I am a pillar, a witness to the world. Mountain air whistles over chapped lips. As I step forward, caught between motion and stillness, I float in balance. Then gravity nudges me into the flow of a steady walk.
This is the magic of beginnings. I am at the start of a long trek through the Western Himalayas. My steps fall into rhythm, a syncopation of feet and heart, arms and legs moving through space and time. Movement transforms me from observer to participant. To move is to activate the body and create my own reality.
Each footstep carries risk. One misstep and I could fall. But this connected sequence of near-falls is the grace of peril. Feet, hips, shoulders, hands and head combine in one of our species’ most essential acts: walking.
Every step is a portal into our past. That first upright ancestor, rising on two legs to snatch a glowing fruit, dared to walk a few steps more. The madness of walking lies in its vulnerability: exposed bellies, upright spines, no safety in four legs. But we chose to face the world standing tall. One, then two, then many. Walking into the unknown with courage.
To move forward is to be tested. We walk upright into danger with faith we will not fall. It took five million years of trial and error to perfect our walk. In that long, stumbling history lies the foundation of human progress. Walking is encoded in every cell. It shapes our breath, digestion, cognition, even how we love and grieve. The upright body is the tool we have used to connect with the planet and each other.
A Heavy Soul
It was my brother Gareth’s tragic death in a boating accident that led me to take that four-month Himalayan walk. I began uneasily, unaware of how deeply grief had gripped me. I threw myself into the journey, walking up to ten hours a day, forty kilometres at a stretch, week after week. Blistered feet and aching legs did not stop me.
By the time I reached the Mahakali River, the border of India and Nepal, something inside me had shifted. The fog that had surrounded me since Gareth’s death had lifted. I was not healed, but I was steadier. Each step became about being present, about the wonder of movement and the joy of the path.
What had brought this transformation? Geography, culture, religion? None explained it fully. Eventually, I saw that the key was walking. Repetitive, unconscious, ancient. It connected me to something essential.
Walking and the Great Minds
Across history, the greatest minds have used walking to unlock their inner worlds. Jesus, Buddha and Muhammad walked in wildernesses. Aristotle taught while pacing. Rousseau said his mind only worked with his legs. Darwin walked a sand track in Kent. Dickens walked thirty miles around London. Virginia Woolf, Einstein, Gandhi – all thinkers, all walkers.
Thoreau saw walking as civil disobedience. Queen Victoria found solace in Highland rambles. Steve Jobs held walking meetings in Palo Alto.
This is more than historical detail. There is a pattern: walking helps us think. When stressed, we say we need a walk to clear our head. And it works. Movement reorganises thought, releases tension and helps problems unravel. There are biochemical and psychological reasons for this. Walking connects body and brain in ways sitting cannot.
On walks, ideas clarify and emotions soften. Even after exhausting seminars, a short walk brings insight. Our ancestors walked through evolution and wired creativity into the rhythm of their steps.
Walk, Create, Repeat
Walking not only solves problems; it inspires stories. The structure of narrative – a beginning, a journey, an end – mirrors a walk. Childhood tales are often toddling expeditions. Every great myth, from Homer’s Odyssey to modern memoirs, is a walk in disguise.
On foot, we enter story. Each step creates space for reflection and reinvention. A walk is where ego dissolves and the self expands. From your first uncertain steps to a final stroll, walking is life’s rhythm. It is motion, emotion and devotion.
I did not know this when I began my Himalayan journey. But something primal within me did. The rhythm of footsteps stirred memory and began to heal loss. I was reconnecting with the most fundamental motion of our species.
The Human Experience
Walking is essential to how we understand the world. Recent decades have challenged the old belief that body and mind are separate. We now know they are deeply connected. The walking body is not just transport; it is an interpreter of reality.
Our experience of time, space, story and even love is shaped by walking. Through walking, we understand where we belong. It is our first freedom and final solace.
Walking links us to evolution and creativity. As we walked, we changed. As we changed, we imagined. Walking was not only a tool but also a catalyst. A spark for intelligence.
In a world that is fast, virtual and disembodied, walking is more important than ever. It is not just exercise or therapy. It is a return to essence. A connection to our collective story. A reminder that we were made for this – to walk, to move, to breathe deeply, to feel the ground beneath us.
This is what I found in the Himalayas. And what I continue to find each time I take a step into the unknown. Walking is what we are made to do. It is our perfect motion.
Words_Jono Lineen