A photo of a notepad and a pencil and a headshot of essayist Daniel Eckberg.
Walking is a “superpower,” or so says neuroscientist Shane O’Mara. It activates parts of our brain that make us happier, healthier, better at problem solving, and even more creative. Studies have also shown living in walkable proximity to life’s necessities saves time, reduces pollution, and even reduces rates of divorce, which are strongly correlated with increased commute length.
Yet when I first moved to Madison, I intentionally avoided looking for housing anywhere near the most walkable parts of the city: downtown or the campus area. I’d spent the prior year just off another campus, in a cramped rental house in Minneapolis with 10 housemates, and I was ready for some peace and quiet.
I found a modest little apartment near Broadway that fit the bill. And while it was in many ways a great place to live, after seven-plus years there I began to grow restless. The isolation I’d sought near the edge of town began to feel a bit too isolating. I chafed at the need to hop in my car nearly any time I wanted to meet up with friends, and grew envious of the walkability many of them enjoyed near Willy Street or Atwood.
I lived in a city rated as a Gold Level Walk Friendly Community, and boasting the most parks per capita in the nation, and yet I barely walked anywhere.
So I began scouring Craigslist and toured half a dozen places in or around the isthmus before I found one so perfect it almost seemed fictional. It was less than a mile from my job, it was in a very walkable area near Park Street, it was somehow cheaper than my current apartment, and it sat right on Monona Bay with spectacular views of the Capitol and the water. The only ostensible trade-off was that I’d be losing some privacy to live in a place with housemates again, but they were wonderful as well.
I felt like I’d found a cheat code; the street was lined with well-to-do retirees living in beautiful lakefront homes, and plopped in the middle was our house of 20-something guys staying up late watching kung-fu movies.
I loved it from day one. I could drive to work in two minutes, bike there in four, or walk there in 20. Our backyard was literally a coffee shop. There were ample restaurants and live music venues within shouting distance, the grocery store was a stone’s throw, and the street itself was a designated bike boulevard I could use to glide into downtown in 10 minutes. I even kayaked to the farmers’ market or the office a few times, and I would frequently go a week at a time without touching my car.
I’d caught the bug and there was no shaking it. A few years on when my wife and I began looking to buy a home, walkability was one of our biggest priorities. And after more than a year of searching we were fortunate to snag one near the pedestrian-friendly Monroe Street area.
Of course everyone has their own preferences, and having some time and space to yourself is valuable and necessary. But we are at heart social beings; a lesson that has come into stark view in recent years with growing rates of isolation and mental health issues following the rise of social media and the pandemic. To that end, residents of walkable mixed-use neighborhoods are more likely to know their neighbors, be more trusting, and be more involved with their communities than those living in car-dependent settings. That certainly bears out my experience; within months of moving in, no less than five of our new neighbors had brought us homemade baked goods, and these days it’s rare I walk a block from home without greeting someone I know.
I can’t stress enough how nice it is to be able to go about life mostly by foot or on two wheels. It turns errands into workouts or even adventures and rarely fails to lift my mood. It also provides a whole new way to experience places or streets you may have driven on for years. It’s amazing how much more you notice at that pace, how many hole-in-the-wall spots you find, how many hidden paths you uncover. You may discover a wardrobe in someone’s front yard selling pottery on the honor system, a bazaar in a church parking lot, or a park so untrammeled it seems to have no name at all. You may even come across Rudi, Madison’s most celebrated pig, whose chance encounter made my day months before his rise to fame. And if you take nothing else from this, I firmly recommend exploring the back trails of the oft-missed portion of the Arboretum near Arbor Drive.
While not all may have much choice in where they live, particularly in today’s housing market, for those who do: a neighborhood’s walkability may well be worth considering. For in the words of Rebecca Solnit, “Home is everything you can walk to.”
Daniel Eckberg is an occasional paddler, a frequent pedestrian, and a resident of Madison.
If you are interested in publishing an essay in Isthmus, query lindaf@isthmus.com.
