“I can only meditate when I walk,” wrote Jean-Jaques Rousseau. “”When I stop, I cease to think; my mind only works with my legs.” In his Confessions (completed in 1770), the famous French philosopher went on to explain in more detail. “There is something about walking which stimulates and enlivens my thoughts. When I stay in one place, I can hardly think at all. My body has to be on the move to set my mind going.”

Rousseau was not the first philosopher to say so. More than two millennial before, Aristotle (around 300 BCE) was part of the Peripatetic school of thinkers (the word means “one who walks habitually and extensively”).

I’ve interviewed a number of novelists, poets and song writers who say the same. When they get stuck in a creative work, they go for a walk—not trying, by the way, to come up with the missing text but letting their minds rest on the sights and sounds of nature. The missing text comes serendipitously.

I don’t think the experience is unique to art and literature. I’m pretty sure a computer programmer often discovers a missing piece of code while watching a couple of squirrels at play. Maybe it’s God’s way of telling us that work is not the only productive part of our lives. Walking to do nothing is just as important. Which is the subject of tomorrow’s blog.