Reviewed by Emily Webber
In Walking Well: Trails, Paths, Pilgrimages (Wolsak and Wynn; Nov. 2026), Canadian writer and professor Ken Wilson examines how walking outside transforms our inner life and deepens our awareness of the earth. Through essays primarily framed by the different walks Wilson has completed, he shows what happens when a person deliberately moves through the world on foot. In the book’s introduction, he sums up his core philosophy and the ideas he unpacks:
“Walking can allow us to connect to place as well. Part of the notion of walking well, as my nêhiyaw or Plains Cree friends, teachers, and mentors have pointed out to me, is walking in a good way on the land. I’ve been fascinated by the nêhiyawêwin word wâhkôhtowin since I first encountered it. That word translates into English as “kinship relationality:” the recognition that we are intimately tied to the world around us and its creatures, whether they are plants, animals, insects, or birds.”
Wilson has been plagued by chronic depression nearly all his life. Although he regularly goes to therapy and takes antidepressants, he never feels fully free of it. When he turns 50, he decides to walk the Camino de Santiago. As a novice walker, he connects with others and the land in ways he hadn’t realized were possible. Beyond getting stronger and gaining a sense of accomplishment, he notices another, almost imperceptible change in himself. As if there is tiny loosening of the depression that has hounded him. Wilson does not say that walking will magically cure everything. He sees it as a way to live more intentionally, avoid isolation, and live more closely with the earth, improving a person’s mental health.
“ ‘Doesn’t it get boring?’ my friend Kathleen asks after the walk is finished and I’m back home, and I have to admit that it does, sometimes. Hours of the same repeated action, the same horizon, the same road. Craig Mod, an American writer, argues that the boredom of a long walk is the point, that it forces you to pay attention to the world around you, or to your own thoughts.”
After returning from the Camino de Santiago, Wilson continues walking in Canada. Essays span the Haldimand Tract in southwestern Ontario to the Pacific Rim National Park on Vancouver Island to his backyard or the side of a road. Wilson studies the land as it is today, including birds, other wildlife, and landscapes. But he also looks at the place’s history, especially the land taken from Indigenous peoples and the impacts of climate change. Walking is not only self-healing, but also an acknowledgment of the human impact on our earth.
“I stop for a minute, listen to the birds, look at the bare trees that will be covered in green leaves in just a few weeks, the brown lawns that will soon be green, too. Why would anyone trade this beautiful planet for another?”
I picked up this book with interest because I have my own walking story. It is much simpler than Wilson’s, though I long to one day trek the Camino de Santiago or truly walk the North Yorkshire countryside, where my husband is from. I was stuck at my desk for many hours a day until I realized I might be slowly killing myself if I didn’t get up. I started walking in a little park by my house for an hour each day, and it has changed my life. When I’m walking in the park, surrounded by wildlife and occasional interactions with other parkgoers, I feel a deep connection with others and our natural world. As Wilson said, even on hard days, I think as he does: “What a world this is that contains such loveliness. I want to be part of it for as long as I can.”
If you are already a walker, you will find much in common with Wilson and will love following him along the winding paths of these essays. If you aren’t, you won’t be overwhelmed by athletic jargon or expectations of physical endurance. This book is all about the soul, and Wilson writes with intimacy, celebrating community, history, and wildlife. Wilson also weaves his own story of depression, forgiveness, and finding his place in the world throughout. All you have to do to try it out and see the benefits yourself is to go for a stroll through your own neighborhood. You might be surprised to find yourself pulled down a path of greater noticing of what is around you and of connection with the land, animals, and fellow humans.
Emily Webber is a writer of criticism, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has appeared in Rain Taxi, the Ploughshares Blog, The Rumpus, Writer magazine, America Magazine, and elsewhere. She’s the author of a chapbook of flash fiction, Macerated.
