Mindful Miles

I recently remembered a conversation with a colleague years ago. She was a traveler who proudly collected the ocean, one tiny jar of seawater at a time, from every coast she visited. I thought it was the most wonderfully eccentric hobby.

Fast forward to my Mindful Miles journey, and I realize I’ve developed an equally strange—and much less salty—obsession. I’m collecting benches.

Not physically, of course. I’m not hauling wooden planks home. I collect the moments on them. For months, I’ve walked thousands of steps, not just for the sake of the mileage, but for the sacred, slightly uncomfortable plank of wood that marks my destination.

These benches are rarely luxurious. They’re often painted a dull green, etched with high school declarations of love, and sometimes strategically placed to catch a rogue drip from an overhanging branch. They are not designed for comfort; they are designed for pausing.

And yet, sitting down on a park bench after a long walk is where the real magic happens.

It’s where I put the noise of my life down and just absorb. The chaotic squeal of a rusty swing set, the distant scent of freshly cut grass, the way the late afternoon sun catches the dust motes in the air. That small wooden seat is where I switch from “doing” to “being.”

In fact, many of my posts for this page were written from the perch of one of my collected benches. It’s like these simple, stationary structures unlock a world of inspiration. Like Alice finding Wonderland through a rabbit hole, I often find my moment of clarity and flow, my personal Wonderland, right there on a chipped park bench.

It turns out, the true souvenir of any Mindful Mile isn’t the distance covered, but the deep, satisfying rest earned. The bench is just the trophy stand.