What a community of mall walkers taught me about being alive.
I never thought I’d become a mall walker.
But this past winter, when the weather turned ugly and I needed somewhere to move my body before my early morning Zumba and aerobics classes, I found myself joining the quiet parade of people circling the mall before the stores opened. And what I found surprised me.
A community.
On my first day, everyone nodded and waved — the silent, universal welcome of people who share a ritual. Months later, I know some of their names. I definitely know their walks.
And that’s when it hit me: everyone walks differently.
Which is, of course, a perfect metaphor for everything.
There’s the couple who moves as one — hands clasped, shoulders nearly touching, their strides so matched they seem to share a single heartbeat.
There’s the young man who laps me at least once every circuit, legs long and purposeful, going somewhere urgent even when there’s nowhere to be.
Some people drift in their own world. Others scan every storefront, every face. Some walk like they’re running from something. Others like they’ve already arrived.
I began to wonder: how present are they?
Not just physically present — shoes on the tile, arms swinging — but genuinely here. Aware of their own reflection in the darkened store windows.
Noticing the music drifting from somewhere near the food court, the seasonal displays shifting week by week, the way the air changes from the cold outside to the warmth within. Curious about the person who shared their loop yesterday and walks a little differently today.
Or is the whole point simply — how fast, how far, how soon can it be done?
Because if it is, then mall walking isn’t a metaphor for life.
It is life, lived on autopilot.
Research is confirming what mystics and contemplatives have known forever: presence isn’t just a spiritual nicety. It’s fundamental to happiness, to health, to feeling truly alive.
And curiosity — that wide-open, wondering attention we had as children before it was quietly educated out of us — turns out to be one of the things that actually keeps us alive, in every sense of the word.
I watch my fellow walkers and I wonder about them. Are they curious? Do they notice? Are they walking the loop, or are they living it?
What I know for certain is this: they are kind. I see jackets and water bottles left unattended on benches, trusted to still be there on the next pass. I see smiles exchanged between strangers who have, over time, become something more than that. There is gentleness here, and care, and an unspoken sense of belonging.
I hope that follows them out the doors and into their days.
Because the mall is just practice.
The real question is whether we’re walking through our lives the same way some people walk through the mall — head down, checking the distance, waiting for it to be over — or whether we’re moving through it with our eyes open.
Awake to the people beside us. Curious about what’s around the next corner. Present for the whole strange, beautiful loop.
Not just finishing it.
Living it.
BECA LEWIS coaches, teaches, writes blogs and books, plays with art, and is addicted to reading. She lives in Ohio with her husband and has kids and grandkids scattered across the country.
