One of life’s greatest pleasures is music. And another? Walking. Combined, the two create a symphony of freedom in the mind. One that encourages thoughts to run wild, ideas to blossom, and endorphins to multiply. Every morning I head out the door with my earphones, and I open up Spotify to scroll through my playlists. Some mornings, when the rain is heavy, and I’m on my way to a lecture, I’ll play a little Tom Odell, or some Celeste, or anything that seems to match the mood. On brighter days, I’ll venture to the Bodleian with Bad Bunny, or Stevie Wonder blasting through my ears. Come rain or shine, the music seems to meet me where I am without fail. But it seems recently that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to walk without music playing just inches away from my brain. The notion of it seems practically medieval.
In fact, walking without listening to music, podcasts, or the radio can feel unproductive. As a language student, I listen to a lot of foreign language podcasts, and I have been doing so since school. Whilst taking a break from revision with an evening walk, I would listen, for example, to the French news. Often, on the walk to the bus stop, I would put on a couple of Spanish songs to click my brain into the right mode for my first class. And, of course, listening to these may have been useful, but doing so removed the only gap in my day that I didn’t have to be working. The gap I should have been using to clear my mind for the day ahead.
Even back then, I remember noticing that the days I left my earphones at home always seemed quieter, calmer, and clearer in my mind. On the school bus at three in the afternoon, I’d find myself smiling as I recalled something that my friend and I had laughed at earlier that day, or I’d catch random snippets of a dozen other conversations. Then, walking home, I’d take in the sounds of lawnmowers, and birds, and planes coming into land – all noises that I’d normally block out with my music. At university, it is even harder to find that slither of freedom and silence each day. My walks to lectures are short, and my walks to the college library even shorter. And still, I always try to squeeze in a song or two.
During my year abroad, I finally had the opportunity to take longer walks. And often, at least once a week, I would force myself to leave my worn-out earphones at home. And the first few times I did it, I felt a little bare. My pockets were too light, and it took a while to mentally cut off this electrical umbilical cord. But over time, these walks became more intentional, more memorable. I even noticed my foreign language skills improving as I absorbed the amusing bavardage in the marketplace, and people chatting in bars, or outside of shops. I even began to recognise the rhythm of my boots hitting the cobblestones. Walking became at once, more grounding and, ironically, even melodical.
And this intentionality with my music-free walking didn’t change the amount of time I listened to music. Rather, it made the music, which I listened to intentionally, much more enjoyable. I was no longer playing the same few albums to death, and I was noticing little lyricisms, and quirks in songs that I was previously convinced I knew through and through.
Leaving behind the headphones, however, isn’t as easy as you might think. Whether we like it or not, our world is becoming increasingly geared towards our digital accompaniments. Most shops, supermarkets, and fast-food chains have screens that allow for close-to-zero contact with another human being. This not only erases jobs, but on a human level it makes us all even more isolated. Sometimes, putting our earphones in allows us to disappear into our own idealistic daydreams, and over time this comes at everyone’s expense.
You could make the point that the listening-walking habit has been around for generations. In fact, most of our parents likely listened to music whilst walking, perhaps on their Sony Walkman with foam-pad headphones. But this is a completely different experience. Even a few decades ago, the humble iPod only allowed minimal downloads, and streaming was out of the question. These days, our ultra-skippable ‘Made for you’ Spotify playlists will do all the work for us. It is even possible to AI prompt an exact feeling, situation, or atmosphere, and Spotify will dish up a perfect playlist. Whilst walking to the shop, I’ll easily thumb through a dozen song intros in the space of a few minutes. And in the end, I’m not particularly focused on the music, nor my surroundings.
By striving relentlessly for absolute efficiency, tech companies have erased the processes of everything. Almost as though the process suggests unproductive delay. But all processes have the potential to be useful, meditative and enjoyable. Though less efficient, no one could ever argue that picking a record from a shelf, unwrapping it, placing it on a turntable, and gently settling the needle over the spinning vinyl is in any way ‘unproductive.’ Rather, the process is enjoyable, and a key part of the experience. Streaming music means losing this simple pleasure. There is no warm up. Zero effort. Perhaps this is why our generation is also witnessing a return to wired earphones, as both an aesthetic and practical preference over wireless buds. This is just one of many indicators of our generation’s ambition to once again ‘go analogue.’
Although listening to music whilst walking is by no means a ‘bad habit’ (and I will certainly continue to do it), it is clear that our automatic assimilation to a world of immediacy, infinite variety, and endless distraction epitomises a tiresome and disconnected world. Such alienating behaviours breed overstimulation, stress, and, above all, an increased sense of detachment from others. So perhaps one silent walk a week could make a huge impact on our emotions. Either way, it’s an easy change in habit that is absolutely worth pursuing – one step at a time.