The Habit That Saved Me

The Accidental Savior: A Daily Walk by the Sea

It started as a simple way to quiet my overthinking mind. You know, the kind that keeps you up replaying that one awkward thing you said three weeks ago? I wasn’t looking for a “life-changing habit.” I wasn’t scouring self-help books or journaling my affirmations by candlelight. I just wanted to escape the claustrophobia of my own thoughts—and maybe burn off the clam chowder addiction I had every intention of not addressing.

So there I was, lacing up my sneakers for what felt like a begrudging act of defeat: a daily walk along the rocky, salt-breeze-drenched shores of Kennebunkport. My seaside hometown—quaint, postcard-perfect—always felt like the kind of place you visited, not escaped from. But I realized I hadn’t truly lived in it for years. Not since life got loud with deadlines, the chaos of relationships, and the constant whisper of “shouldn’t you be achieving more?”

It only took a few days of those walks for something strange to happen. The habit I’d adopted almost accidentally turned into the very thing that transformed how I navigated everything—work, love, even my surly cat who doesn’t think walking is a personality trait worth having.

This article isn’t about step counts or fitness goals, though my calves are unintentionally better for it. It’s about how that small habit led me to live—and love—in a way I never thought I could.

Why “Doing Nothing” Is Actually Doing Everything

Here’s something wildly unromantic that I’ve learned: when you’re overwhelmed, the last thing you need is more advice. I mean, that’s why we love rom-com leads—they flail gracelessly, drink too much wine, and mess things up in relatable ways until they stumble into an awkward-yet-perfect ending.

During my first walking week, I firmly believed there was nothing a scenic mile couldn’t overcomplicate. I wasn’t solving global issues; I was just putting one foot in front of the other, inhaling salty air and exhaling my frustration with work emails that began with “Just following up…”

But something shifted. My brain, typically a hamster wheel of “Why did he ghost me?” and “Is oat milk really better for my latte?” began to quiet.

Here’s why: walking wasn’t “doing nothing.” It was recalibration.

  • Time to clear out the mental junk drawer.
    You know that overstuffed drawer in your kitchen? The one full of things you might need someday but probably won’t (hello, ancient takeout menus). My brain was that drawer, crammed with insecurities, comparisons, and minor regrets. Walking became my reset button.
  • Rediscovering presence.
    Walking along the shore forced me to exist exactly where I was. I noticed gulls fighting over a dropped french fry, couples arguing about whether they’d remembered sunscreen, kids chasing sandy dogs. I wasn’t in the past, overanalyzing. I wasn’t in the future, bracing. I was right there, mid-spray of an Atlantic wave.

It wasn’t self-help in the traditional sense. It was simply learning to be.

How Oceanfront Walks Saved My Love Life (No, Seriously)

Let me preface this by saying I am, by nature, an overthinker. On bad days, this manifests as “Meticulously Drafting A Text To Someone Who Doesn’t Deserve It.” Maybe you can relate. Walking, on the other hand, didn’t leave me much time for spiraling flights of anxious fancy. My legs were moving, the seagulls needed judging (glorified pirates, if you ask me), and by the time I came home, the need to endlessly analyze had all but dissipated.

Here’s how that translated into actual love-life results:

  1. Giving Myself the Space to Feel
    We often bulldoze through emotions because sitting with them is uncomfortable. Walking offered an unpolished but effective system of processing. Endings of relationships (both good and bad) found closure in the rhythm of my footsteps.

  2. A Confidence Boost Disguised as Simplicity
    Walking gave me one hour of my day completely free of “to-dos.” No expectations to perform, to impress, or to swipe right. That time was mine, and mine alone. Turns out, taking even that little bit of space for yourself—whether through walking, meditating, or singing off-key in the shower—makes you infinitely more comfortable in your own skin. And that’s exactly the energy you bring into relationships.

  3. A New Appreciation for Subtlety in Connection
    Walking teaches you patience. Love requires it. Early on, we tend to rush—to define, to label, to secure the happy ending. But as I strolled those winding Maine paths, I started seeing connection as something you can cultivate gradually, like climbing a hill rather than sprinting to the top.

Now, does this mean I insisted everyone I dated join me for breezy shoreline wanderings? No (though one guy did, bless him, and audibly wheezed through the second mile). But it quietly set the foundation for more thoughtful interactions: fewer premature DTR conversations, more playful exchanges, a willingness to let things unfold like a tide.

Taking the First Step

If you’re currently rolling your eyes and thinking, That’s cute, Charlotte, but what am I supposed to do with this whole “walking saved my brain” nonsense?, don’t worry—I’ve been there. Habits like this aren’t some magical instant fix. They start small. Incrementally.

Here’s how I’d suggest weaving it into your own chaos:

  • Start small: Think 10, maybe 15 minutes. Long enough to untangle thoughts but short enough that you don’t scare yourself off.
  • Leave your phone at home like it's an ex who wants to “talk.” Listen to the naturally entertaining sounds of life. Ocean waves. Wind rustling through trees. That one neighbor with strong opinions about property lines.
  • Simplify your destination: It doesn’t have to be a craggy coast. Park trails, urban sidewalks, or even laps around your apartment building count. The magic comes from consistency, not scenery (though seagulls are a bonus).
  • Reframe your walk as “me time”: No pressure. You don’t need a deep revelation or a gratitude epiphany by mile two. Just take the moment for what it is. Full stop.

A Conclusion as Easy as Putting One Foot in Front of the Other

The funny thing is, I never expected walking to save me—not from overthinking, not from burnout, and certainly not from the messy tangle of relationships past, present, and future. But those daily seaside escapes pulled me firmly into the here and now. They gave me room to loosen my grip on the things I couldn’t control and focus on the one thing I could: how I chose to show up for myself and those I cared about.

I won’t lie to you—life still gets messy. I still draft unnecessarily long texts. I still binge chocolate-chip cookies when I should be “enjoying balance.” But somewhere along that rocky Maine coastline, I realized showing up was enough.

So, wherever your equivalent of the Atlantic Ocean may be, slip on a pair of comfortable shoes. Take a step. Then another. Let the world melt away for a bit. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll stumble into the answers you weren’t looking for.