Stumbling into Sustainability: The Walking Commute Pt 2, Begin Again

When I finished the first part of this series, I was riding a wave of good intentions. I had a plan. I had the accountability of putting it out into the world. I genuinely wanted walking (or maybe skating) to become something ordinary, woven into the fabric of my days instead of treated like a special occasion. Then life, in its usual unceremonious way, happened. And maybe that’s the most honest thing about this entire experiment.

In mid-June, work pulled me to northwest Arkansas for a film festival. My usual walking commute was on pause, but I wasn’t ready to surrender. So one Friday morning I woke at six, laced up my bright purple roller skates, and rolled from my AirBNB to Onyx Coffee in Bentonville Square for breakfast, making a quick detour to a neighborhood Walmart for supplies. The sidewalks AND roads were alive with runners. Almost every one of them smiled or laughed as they passed. Their delight at the absurdity of my colorful skates made the morning exponentially better than it had any right to be.

Skates and Coffee, a perfect morning. Photo by Liz B.

Saturday belonged entirely to work. Sunday, though, I was determined. Northwest Arkansas is built for being outside: trails, bike paths, smooth sidewalks that seem to invite you to keep going. I skated to the office for our staff dinner and had fun with all the double takes, “Wait, you really skated?” “Yes, yes, I did.”

Monday was even better: coffee, work, home again on wheels. Tuesday brought opening night and a red carpet. Even someone who works entirely behind the scenes still has to look presentable, and Arkansas humidity mixed with roller skates does not produce a polished appearance. The skates stayed put. I managed a few more rolls later in the week, but once the outdoor theater portion of the festival began, my days were filled with hauling boxes, moving equipment, and solving whatever problem appeared next. Roller skates were simply the wrong tool.

Before leaving, though, I gave myself one last gift. Nearly two hours skating the empty roads and impossibly smooth sidewalks of Walmart’s new corporate campus on a quiet Sunday afternoon. For a little while it felt like the entire place belonged to me. Had the weather been cooler and my body less exhausted from a week in the heat, I could have stayed out there for hours with headphones on. It was one of those rare stretches where movement stopped feeling like exercise and simply felt like joy.

Miles of smooth, empty skate space, and absolute dream. Photo by Liz B.

Coming home was not the clean reset I expected. My first day back in the office, June 24, I drove. I was late. I hadn’t meal-prepped. The energy that had carried me through Arkansas had evaporated. I told myself tomorrow would be different. Instead the entire week felt like recovering from an invisible illness. From the 22nd through the 29th I moved through the days with a constant hangover of physical tiredness, mental fog, and a moodiness I couldn’t quite name. Everything felt urgent and nothing felt possible. Sometimes the body knows before the mind is willing to admit it: you are not ready.

Then, on the 30th, something shifted. I woke up feeling… normal. The weather cooperated. Lunch was already waiting at the office. I grabbed an apple, stepped outside, and walked. Two miles later, iced latte in one hand, podcast in my ears, air actually filling my lungs, I arrived at work feeling like I could handle whatever the day decided to throw. The difference was startling.

The iced latte bribe/reward. Photo by Liz B.

Not every day I skipped felt like failure. On July 1, I deliberately stayed home. I had finally slept well, woke late, and chose the couch and coffee with my partner over rushing out the door. During our busiest season, most of our real time together happens while we’re both working. That quiet hour meant more than another checked box on a walking log. The next day I walked in but needed a ride home after not feeling well. Then the Fourth of July whirlwind arrived, and by the 7th I realized I hadn’t walked all week. I kept promising myself “tomorrow.”

The week of July 13 through 17 was, by my original rigid definition, a complete failure. I didn’t walk once. But I did something else that quietly served the same larger goal: I meal-prepped. Big salads. Salmon snacks. Coconut water. Looking back, that wasn't a failure. It was a small win with a different look.

Not as "clean" as the last food prep, but reasonably healthy and about 3 days worth of lunch/snacks. Photo by Liz B.

As another week approached I started negotiating with myself. Maybe every day was too much. Maybe the bike would be enough…still out of the car, still moving. When you have multiple obligations and life refuses to slow down, sometimes success isn’t found in doing everything. Sometimes it’s found in adjusting the expectation before you abandon the whole thing.

Monday, July 20th was a bust. Tuesday changed the weather inside my head. I walked to work and got a ride home after groceries. Wednesday walked both directions. Thursday walked again. Three days in one week felt glorious, because they reminded me I could still do this.

That same week forced harder questions. Why was this so difficult? Why wasn’t public accountability enough? Had I set myself up to fail? Was I doing this because I truly wanted it, or because I thought I should? The questions kept unfolding. Why are healthy habits so often the first thing we quietly demote on the priority list when they are the very things that make everything else on that list possible?

I don’t have a definitive answer yet. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe this experiment was never only about walking to work. It’s about learning how I make decisions when life interrupts the plan. How quickly I let my own well-being slide when work grows loud. And perhaps most of all, it’s about recognizing that sustainability isn’t only something we practice with the planet. It’s something we have to practice with ourselves.

Some weeks we walk three days. Some weeks we skate through a new city in purple skates while runners smile. Some weeks we meal-prep, drink coffee with someone we love, and simply survive. Perfection was never the real goal. The real goal is learning how to begin again. And it turns out I am surprisingly good at that.

If you missed pt 1, read it here: https://www.happydancingturtle.org/post/stumbling-into-sustainability-the-walking-commute

Want to know more about sustainable living topics, events, and happenings? Sign up for Happy Dancing Turtle’s eNewsletter.