Going for regular walks never ceases to bring me surprising gifts. The fresh air, beauty of nature, and benefits of gentle exercise are all things to be grateful for, though expected in this beautiful part of the world: Vancouver, Canada, on the Pacific West Coast. 

This Emerald City was carved out of an old, predominately untouched rain forest. Having lived here for over thirty years, I still wake up every morning in gratitude that of all the places in the world where I could be born, I was born in Canada. And of all the cities in Canada, Vancouver is to me the most blessed. 

To me, Vancouver’s beauty is unrivaled in North America. Even though it’s a major North American city in terms of size, mind hasn’t taken over here. Without a doubt, it is nature that prevails and dictates the welcoming, balanced, and vital energy field of this city.

Recently, I have been given precious gifts when walking. It’s quite normal for me to receive inspiration when on a walk. However, it’s the human encounters I am most grateful for.

As recently as a week ago, I encountered a man, who looked to be in his early thirties, walking slowly along with his very aged dog. The dog was limping heavily, having only two of his four legs with any strength. His back was swayed and, from the many large lumps all over his body, I knew he wasn’t well.

I stopped and said to the young man, “Your dog is old and not well. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Sally,” he replied, “and this is her last walk.”

Shocked, it took me a few moments to register what he was saying. After this walk, he was taking her to the veterinarian to be put to sleep.

Our eyes met, and through them we communed about Sally’s imminent demise. I felt his deep sadness and joined him in it, since I know about the experience he was about to go through.

“It’s hard,” I said. We looked into each other’s eyes again.  There was nothing more to be said. So I bent down to give Sally some final pats, then silently blessed her and her owner. I then continued on my way, but still carrying both of them with me.

Just yesterday I was out walking along the ocean. As is my wont, on the return part of the walk, I sat in stillness on one of the benches, looking out to the ocean and the mountains on the North Shore, feasting my eyes on the beauty before me.

As I was sitting on the bench, along came a young man – again, likely in his early thirties – whom I had seen so very many times walking this same route along the ocean.

This young man walks slowly from one end of the ocean walk to the other, then back again. He does this for hours. I have seen him resting on a bench now and then, and looking in a garbage can, but mainly just walking, walking, walking – with his head bowed, looking at no one, as if wanting to avoid looks that may cause him to feel shame.

When I saw him, I became intrigued. Does he have a family? A home? A mental illness? For some reason, he touched my heart.

To my surprise, when he walked by me as I sat on the bench. I said, “Hi, I haven’t seen you here for a few days, but perhaps that’s because we have not been here at the same time.”

He stopped in his tracks, wondering if I was speaking to him. “Yes,” I said, “almost every time I come down here, I see you walking as well.” 

Now he knew I was talking to him. He walked from the path and toward me.  I smiled at him, and he smiled back – with perhaps the biggest, brightest, warmest smile I have ever seen. His eyes became alive and sparkled brightly.

“Well,” he said, “you can’t get a better view than this one.”

After that there was a pause. Neither of us knew what to say next. It was he who spoke first. “Have a wonderful day,” he said, then proceeded on his way.

I cried on my way back to the car, so touched was I by our “touching each other.”

How can one assess such gifts? Priceless. Sally, her owner, and the nameless walker have filled up my heart.