03.c Aruki-kata (歩き方), The Quiet Art of Walking

When I visited my parents recently, I noticed how much time they spend sitting. They live in a clean, walkable neighbourhood with fresh air and nature around them, yet most of the day is spent in easy chairs passively watching TV. It is stillness, but not the kind that strengthens the body or exercises the mind. 

In Japan, the idea of movement is part of the system and habits. People walk to the train station, to the store, to school, and to visit friends. Even when the distance is not short, walking is the default. This habit begins early and continues into old age. There is no special meaning to it. It is just daily life. The Japanese call this natural way of walking aruki kata (歩き方), the manner of walking. The idea is simple: keep the body in motion whenever possible.

When I lived in Japan, I learned that the art of movement is different from that in the West, where we sit or move as little as possible, then go to the gym and stress the body. In Okinawa, movement was part of everything. People walked to the fields or along the coast. Elderly men and women walked slowly in the mornings, greeting neighbors. They did not schedule fitness. They simply lived in a way that kept them strong. Even today, when I read about Okinawan longevity, I am reminded that their long lives were shaped not only by intense training but also by everyday movement, sunlight, simple food, and community.

Walking has a cultural weight in Japan. The train system supports this lifestyle. You walk to the station, travel as far as you need, then walk the rest of the way. This creates a rhythm in which the body never falls into deep inactivity. The steps are small, but they accumulate. It is one of the reasons older Japanese adults maintain balance, coordination, and mental clarity far longer than people who rely on cars and long hours of sitting.

When I look at my parents, I can see how the lack of movement affects their posture, breathing, and overall cardiovascular strength. Passive sitting offers temporary comfort but slowly erodes the body. Without intentional motion, the body forgets what it is capable of. Even gentle daily walks would help. A ten-minute walk after breakfast, a quiet loop around the neighborhood at sunset. The body does not need intensity. It needs consistency.

In my own life, walking has become a form of active meditation. I wrote earlier about the monks of Mount Hiei, but the principle does not belong only to them. Steady steps, calm breathing, and a quiet mind can be practiced anywhere. The forest trails in the Pacific Northwest give me the same feeling I once had in Okinawa. Moss, rain, silence. A place where walking becomes time to think and rejuvenate.

If there is a lesson here, it is that longevity is less about supplements or perfect diets than about daily rhythm. Standing up. Moving. Using the legs, balancing. Breathing fresh air, watching sunrises and sunsets.

I hope my parents will rediscover this and form new habits. A short walk each day is not a significant change, but it can shift the entire atmosphere of a life. Strength returns slowly. Mood improves. The world feels larger than the space between a chair and a television. It is a gentle way to return to being part of the world instead of merely observing it.

Walking is the simplest practice I know. It requires no equipment, preparation, or instruction. Just a path and a few clear minutes. It is a good way to begin again.