Paul Theroux once wrote, “There is an art to sauntering.” He, being quite the king of sauntering, should know. Currently, I’m reading “The Old Patagonia Express” where he’s not actually the one who saunters. That role belongs to the pokey steam engine, but the journey itself is what saunters, allowing Theroux to absorb the people, the landscape, the climate (both physically and psychologically) along the way.
We all rush far too much and consequently, miss far too much. We know how to run for trains, planes and busses, to glare at watches and then paradoxically attempt to slow time by hurrying.
Sauntering, like any art form, must be learned, practiced until perfected. I suggest we all begin studying right now.