The peculiar thing about walking slowly without a destination is that there are no wrong turns, no running late, and no distance to overcome. It’s the distractions along the way that shape the route. A small flower in between rocks, a tree you have never noticed before, a house that reminds you of a memory you have never had, or just the play of leaves in the sun and wind. Every distraction contains the possibility of a miracle—a small wonder of the world that wants to show us something. If we open up and let ourselves be captivated by these distractions, we can sense these wonders. The artist Terike Hapooja describes this mechanism of opening up as crucial for an artistic being:

“Making art requires being emotionally and mentally open to the world; you have to be present, to let the things of the world touch, disturb, and amaze you.” (8)

As a photographer, I often experience moments of fascination that inspire me and prompt me to stop and capture what I see. I cannot describe this fascination in words, but there is something that wants me to stop, something that wants to be seen and captured in an image. A fellow photographer, Per Bak Jensen—whom I very much admire—allowed this kind of fascination to shape his entire body of work. In an interview published by Louisiana Channel, he shares how the search for this indescribable something, can make us realize that we are not mere individuals—but somehow all belong together. We can learn about this by opening up and “look[ing] at trees, and animals, and plants, and […] humans.” (9) Indeed, we might have forgotten that we already belong—to the human species, to nature—but we have to remind ourselves and practice it (10).

In an essay on the process of becoming, Youth and Community Studies Scholar Joanne Cassar describes this sort of attentiveness as a crucial part of personal world-building. Without being distracted, there is no opportunity to open up and experience “the wonders, mysteries and complexities of life.” (11) If we are constantly running and constantly caught in a tunnel of optimization and consumption, there cannot be space for opening up. Walking slowly is inherently unproductive. It is a performative, artistic practice in itself. A practice that simultaneously fosters distractions and affords space to embrace them, open up, be touched by the world, sense belonging, and learn about life. Slow walking can help us overcome loneliness and alienation and reach a state of solitude beyond consumption. More than a simple everyday practice, it is a radical act against the established capitalist system.